


A Step to the Right

by CatsAreCool (Rachel500)



Series: A Step to the Right [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel500/pseuds/CatsAreCool
Summary: When Harry saves Hermione's life, they find themselves in a different world and in the middle of another magical war - but at least they have each other.





	1. Life After War

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on Rough Trade under my other pseud TrekCat.
> 
> Fanon tropes of Ancient and Noble Houses, Super!Harry.
> 
> Warnings of childhood abuse (physical and neglect). Please be careful of your own triggers.
> 
> Cross-posted to fanfiction.net

His alarm goes off at six.

Harry wakes up unwillingly as he does every day. His hand reaches out and smacks the snooze feature on the alarm clock. He turns over and burrows back under the duvet for another ten minutes of dozing.

It’s September. His nose is cold and the old radiator in his bedroom is making noises which signal it needs bleeding again. He snuggles further into the duvet.

The alarm goes off again.

He shuts it off, forces himself up and out of the bed. He shivers as cold air hits the bare skin outside of the boxers and t-shirt combo which has become his typical nightwear. He applies a wordless, wandless heating charm to the room to compensate for the radiator.

He hopes the hot water has fared better as he stumbles from the room and into the small bathroom in his flat.

The bathroom doesn’t have enough room to swing a cat but it does the job. Harry sets the shower to run while he makes use of the facilities. He drops his clothes into the laundry bag on the hook behind the door and steps into the spray.

He stands for a moment letting the water run over him, down the back of his neck, across his shoulders. He lifts his face and begins to wash with efficiency. He’s never quite lost the habit of the three-minute showers his aunt had imposed on him through most of his childhood. He rebelliously spends another minute in the shower just because he can before getting out. A quick shave charm and two minutes of dental hygiene later, he steps out with one towel slung carelessly around his waist as he towels dry his hair with the other on his way back to the bedroom.

Ten minutes later he’s dressed in old jeans, a long-sleeved grey Henley under a burgundy t-shirt. New glasses are perched on his nose; stylish frames Hermione had convinced him to buy for his birthday. His trainers are not new but they’re in good condition and they’re comfortable. He makes coffee and toast and eats standing up tucked into the corner of the counter between the cooker and sink. He washes up swiftly – another ingrained habit.

He checks he has all the books and papers he needs for the day in his knapsack, shrugs on a warm jacket and a cycling reflector waistcoat over it. He heads out of the flat. His bike is on the landing and he carries it down the narrow flight of stairs to the communal lobby.

The retired milkman who lives in the flat below him, opens the front door just as Harry reaches it. Harry steps back and lets the older man and his black Highland terrier into the building. The dog immediately shakes his coat.

Harry hops out of the way but reaches down to pat the dog who wags at him happily and pushes his cold wet nose into the warm palm of Harry’s hand. “Hello Mister Higgins; Blackie.”

“Harry.” Higgins takes off his flat-cap and runs a hand across the wild white hair revealed. “Wet day out there, lad.”

Harry nods. “Guess it’s the end of the Summer.”

“It’s almost October, lad.” Higgins huffs. “Summer ended a while ago. When was the last time we saw a glimmer of sun?” He tugs on Blackie’s lead. “Have a good day, lad.” They head down the corridor.

Harry takes a moment to put on the cycling helmet before he tackles the door and getting his bike out of the building. He surreptitiously applies an impermeable charm to everything as he carries the bike down the front steps and onto the pavement.

The square is peaceful in the grey light of morning and its haze of drizzle. It’s early still and there are a fair number of cars lining the road. The small park in the centre is hidden by the wrought-iron railings and tall green spiky hedges. The old townhouses are mostly populated by locals – families in the unconverted properties, professional couples and retired folk in those which have been made into flats. The rent is too high for most students here and Harry knows he’s an oddity, but he likes the quiet; likes having his own place.

Harry grimaces at the sky but he clambers onto the bike and sets off. The bike ride is almost meditative; he focuses on the rush of the wind, the speed of the bike, and the turns of the road. The closer to the university he gets, the heavier the traffic becomes, and Harry has to concentrate to avoid uncaring motorists and unobservant pedestrians.

He arrives at the university’s library right on schedule, locks his bike up and heads inside. He heads for the small alcove he’d found on the first day of Freshers’ week, half hidden behind a book stack. He settles in and does the reading for his first tutorial.

University isn’t where he’d expected to end up after the war. He’s not sure where he’d expected to end up but then he’d barely expected to survive the war. He almost hadn’t. Harry pushes the thought away in favour of international law.

He breaks at ten, quietly gathering his things and heading to the small café down the side street next to the library. The muggle downstairs is always busy, but the magical upstairs rarely has anyone.

Harry orders one large pot of tea for two, a slice of the chocolate cake and one of the blueberry muffins from the house elf in charge of the counter. He takes the tray back to the usual table, sets everything out and props the tray up next to the wall by his chair.

He’s just done when Hermione arrives right on schedule. Their daily get-together is a comforting habit for Harry.

She shoots him a smile and slides into the seat opposite him. She immediately shuffles out of the heavy black wool coat she wears but keeps the hideous yellow scarf (a Molly Weasley special) wound around her neck. It looks effortlessly stylish teamed with the simple blue sweater and jeans she wears, but Harry knows Hermione isn’t all that interested in fashion.

She also barely pays attention to her looks despite turning into a stunningly pretty woman. Her wide brown eyes are framed with sooty lashes, set in a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones flushed a natural peach. Her curly caramel hair is mostly tamed but typically caught back in a messy bun with tendrils escaping.

He blinks, not even consciously acknowledging his thoughts of ‘Hermione, beautiful, attractive,’ and ‘Ron is an idiot,’ they're so familiar. Instead, he reaches into his knapsack and brings out Hermione’s present and card.

“Happy birthday.” Harry says with a genuinely warm smile.

Hermione brightens visibly and she gives a large smile. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You haven’t opened it yet.” Harry points out.

He plays Mum and serves the tea while she painstakingly opens the card. There’s a picture of Monet’s Water Lily Pond on the front. It had been left blank inside originally so Harry’s messy scrawl takes up the entire space with the simple ‘happy birthday’ message and ‘love Harry.’

Hermione shoots him another smile and places the card on the table as she tackles unwrapping her gift. It’s not a book because that would be too unimaginative but as she reveals the simple handmade wooden jewellery box he wonders if he’s gone too much in the opposite direction. She’s smiling though at the cat carved into the lid; it’s a good approximation of Crookshanks. He lives with Luna these days as kneazles are banned from muggle areas now, but Hermione is still ostensibly his owner.

“Open it.” Harry encourages her and picks up his tea.

Hermione glances at him questioningly but he motions at her to continue. She pries the lid open carefully and gives a gasp at the modest pearl pendant inside.

“Harry…”

“You’re only twenty-one once.” He says primly.

Hermione half-stands, leans over the table and Harry follows her so she can kiss his cheek. She immediately sits down and unwinds the scarf so she put the necklace on.

Harry swallows hard because it’s so trusting of her just to put it on. She hasn’t even checked it for charms. Which if she had would have revealed he’s imbued the pendant with protections against most things short of an Unforgiveable.

“Thank you.” Hermione says. “I love it.” She closes the box wraps it back up in the paper and pops it into her bag. “You’re still coming out tonight, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Harry assures her.

It’s a small gathering of their wizarding friends. It’ll be fine.

Hermione beams at him, takes a sip of her tea and starts unwrapping her blueberry muffin.

“What else did you get?” asks Harry.

Hermione shrugs. “A lot of cards so far.” She smiles again but it’s smaller and sadder. “You’re my first present.”

Harry wants to ask about her parents but Hermione’s relationship with them has been difficult since she restored their memories after finding them in Australia after the war. He tactfully changes the subject and asks her advice on his latest essay.

Her smile brightens again and they debate happily until the pot is empty and their baked goods no more than crumbs on the plates.

Hermione breezes out a few minutes later. She has classes which will keep her busy for the rest of the day. Harry promises to meet her at The Three Broomsticks and heads out too.

Two lectures, the tutorial and a first draft of his paper later, Harry finds himself back at his flat contemplating his meagre wardrobe with a frown. He showers, changes and heads out in shades of black; well-worn jeans, a button-down shirt which he leaves open at the neck leaving a few of his chest hairs to peek out, and a leather blazer. He holsters his wand on his right forearm and holsters a knife to his left ankle. His emergency kit is in a miniaturised wooden chest dangling on a thin strap of leather. He ties it around his neck. His broom is shrunk and stuffed in a pocket. Sturdy boots complete the outfit.

Harry apparates straight from his flat to a side-alley in Hogsmeade.

It’s only a short distance to the pub but he feels the difference between Oxford and Scotland immediately. He regrets his decision not to go with a woollen coat. He mutters a charm to stave off the chill and hurries into the pub.

It’s warm inside and busy.

Harry almost winces at the loud chatter of voices but he takes a deep breath and looks for…

Neville waves to him from a booth at the back.

Harry weaves his way through the crowd, ignoring the wide-eyed stares he gets as someone notices and realises who he is. He’s rarely in wizarding enclaves since the Wizengamot ruling.

He hugs Hermione who has also changed clothes. The burgundy woollen dress, scoop-necked and long-sleeved suits her. It’s quite long and she’s teamed it with knee-high black boots. He’s pleased to see she’s still wearing the pendant.

Ron nods at him from behind a large tankard of beer. Luna waves at him with a brightly coloured cocktail. Neville clasps his shoulder as he pushes Harry into the booth beside Hermione.

“Drink?” offers Neville.

“Just a butterbeer.” Harry says. “Thanks, Nev.”

Neville motions around the table, taking mental note as the others respond with requests before wandering off to the bar.

“Good to see you, mate.” Ron says.

Harry nods. “How are you?”

“Eh.” Ron shrugs. “Joke shop is doing OK. George is thinking of expanding again.”

Harry tries not to react to the news; he’s still a partial owner in Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. George had refused to buy him out or let him out of the agreement he and Fred had set up. He’s also made it clear he won’t accept Harry gifting his share to Ron. Which means Ron’s not an owner, but a salaried employee and that distinction has caused more than a few arguments between the brothers and a lingering resentment from Ron about Harry’s continued share.

“And the rest of the family?” Harry asks politely. “How’s Arthur and Molly?”

“Good.” Ron shrugs. “You know what they’re like.” His eyes land on Harry. “Ginny’s seeing Joe Woods now.” His tone is more than a little accusatory.

“They’ve been going out a while, haven’t they?” Harry replies mildly.

He and Ginny occasionally do communicate although the sting of their failed romance makes it awkward for them both. They’d imploded as a couple long before Harry had been forced out of the wizarding world. Maybe the Summer after the war hadn’t been the best timing to attempt another go at being a couple, but they’d realised as much as they cared about each other, they’d grown apart.

“Almost as long as me and Lav.” Ron notes, sliding a cautious look at Hermione.

Hermione rolls her eyes expressively. “Honestly, Ron, I’ve told you I’m happy for you both.” She waves a hand at the table. “She would have been welcome to join us.”

Harry nudges her knee with his because he knew Hermione had been hurt when Ron had moved on. Hermione’s relationship with Ron had always been volatile – they’d been off again, on again for a long while before Hermione’s decision to attend a muggle university along with Harry had apparently been the last straw for Ron.

Ron is happy with Lavender though and she’s far from the flighty girl she’d been at school. The war has taken its toll on them all.

Neville arrives back with the drinks, and there’s a flurry as they shuffle seats and Hermione’s presents are set on the table. She opens each with the same care she’d opened Harry’s; cooing over Luna’s gift of a magical hairbrush and thanking Neville for the beautiful journal he has bought her. Ron’s present is a set of hair ribbons all in different colours and it’s obvious Lavender has probably had a say in the gift.  

“Mum, uh, also sent a present.” Ron says awkwardly. He delves into his wizarding robe and brings out a square box slightly crumpled around the edges.

“How thoughtful of her.” Hermione says cautiously. She and Molly have had a fairly frosty relationship since she and Ron broke-up.

She opens the box and pulls out a crystal ball.

There’s a moment where she’s clearly flummoxed because Hermione is in no way interested or skilled in divination. Harry makes the mistake of glancing at Neville and they both have to hide their smiles in their butterbeers.

“It’s traditional.” Ron explains a little haltingly.

“Mothers usually pass down the crystal ball to their daughters on their twenty-first.” Luna jumps in. “You’re supposed to look into it at midnight tonight and see your future husband.”

“Right.” Hermione rallies and asks Ron to pass on her thanks to Molly.

Luna frowns at the ball as Hermione sets it on the table. “You may want to take it in for a spiritual cleanse. I can see fog in the glass.”

Ron shoots Luna an offended look. “That’s my Grandmother Honoria’s crystal ball!”

“Honoria was your Weasley grandmother, wasn’t she?” asks Hermione interestedly.

“Yeah. Well, Mum’s is going to go to Ginny, of course.” Ron explains. “No girls in the Weasley family for yonks though, right? So there’s a whole bunch of balls up in the attic. Mum thought it would be nice to give you one.”

Hermione repeats her thanks which has more of a genuine edge. She tucks the ball into her handbag, shrinks the rest of her packages and picks up her wine. They toast to her advanced years.

There’s a disturbance by the door and Harry glances over and sighs as he sees the red robes of two Aurors looking around the room; one older and a younger partner who is unfortunately very recognisable to Harry seeing as they were at school together. He refocuses on his butterbeer. Maybe if he ignores them…

Unfortunately, he’s not that lucky. They make a beeline for the table.

“Mister Potter,” the older Auror begins as they stop in front of him, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

Madame Rosmerta bustles over before Harry or any of the rest of the table can speak. “Auror Linley, what’s going on here?”

Linley draws himself up and looks down his sharp nose at the owner of the pub. “We had a complaint.”

Neville shoots disappointed looks around the room and Harry sees the old couple in the corner glaring back at him defiantly.

“He hasn’t done anything!” protests Ron hotly. “He’s just sitting with us having a drink to celebrate a birthday!”

Harry sighs and shakes his head as Rosmerta begins to protest. “It’s alright. I can leave.”

“You shouldn’t need to, Harry.” Rosmerta gives the Aurors a dirty look. “The terms of the ruling allow him to occasionally visit wizarding enclaves for social, economic and medical appointments. He’s perfectly within his rights to have a drink in my pub and if anyone else doesn’t like it, they can leave!”

“The ruling also states that if there’s a complaint from the public Potter has to remove himself.” Zacharias Smith shoots Harry a triumphant look.

Harry tries hard not to roll his eyes.

“A valid complaint and his title is Lord Black.” Hermione stands up. “The Wizengamot may have been able to suspend him from ever taking up the seat but he has the title and you should refer to him respectfully.”

“Or what, Granger?” Smith retorts. “It’s not likely that they’ll pay any attention to _you!_ ”

Hermione flushes and Harry reaches to take her hand to prevent her getting into trouble, but he’s not quick enough to stop Ron from reacting.

Ron’s on his feet, red in his face and anger heating up his eyes. “Oi!”

Neville is up like a shot and physically shifts to stand between Smith and the table. “They will, however, listen to me.”

Smith turns an unhealthy shade of red.

“That’s enough, Smith.” Linley says, wresting control back. “Lord Longbottom, I don’t believe there’s any need for this to…”

“I’ll be making a complaint of my own.” Neville cuts in, his gaze hard and fixed on Smith for a long moment before flickering to the old couple and back to Linley. “There is no valid complaint here. Harry hasn’t done any magic since he entered the pub and he’s done nothing but sit and converse with friends.”

“I can vouch for that.” A wizard states from the neighbouring booth.

“Me too.” A witch stands up across the room.

Unfortunately, although they mean well, Harry knows the disturbance is now enough for the complaint to be upheld even if the sequence of events is in his favour. Between Harry’s exile, Kingsley short stint as Minister, and the legislation imposing tighter restrictions for muggleborns, they’d learned in short order after the war that the corruption in the Ministry was still rampant. Neville and the other young Lords are trying to change things, but Harry’s too realistic to assume it’ll mean anything positive for him any time soon.

He stands up bringing the litany of support for him to a stumbling close. “Thank you everyone. Rosmerta, Hermione, it’s been lovely, but I think I should probably head out.”

Rosmerta nods understandingly although disappointment flickers through her eyes. “I understand, Harry. It’s been lovely to see you and you’re welcome back anytime. Your drink will be on the house.”

Harry smiles crookedly and pushes his glasses up. He turns and finds Hermione and the others gathering their outerwear. “Hey…”

Hermione shakes her head furiously as she shrugs into her black wool coat. “No, Harry. It’s my birthday and I want to spend the evening celebrating with my closest friends and that includes you. We’ll go to my place.”

She lives across town from Harry in a small studio apartment. The laws have made it difficult for the muggleborn to own or even rent property in the wizarding world.

“Fish and chip supper then, right?” asks Ron excitedly.

Hermione rolls her eyes at him but she smiles her agreement as Neville and Luna also turn to her with beseeching eyes. “Sounds good to me.”

Linley clears his throat. “Apologies for disturbing the birthday celebrations.”

Neville is still positioned between the Aurors and the group. He shakes his head. “I’ll still be complaining, Auror Linley.”

Linley steps on Smith’s foot when he tries to say something. “I understand, Lord Longbottom. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Hermione hooks her hand through Harry’s elbow and they walk out together, Ron and Luna in front of them, Neville bringing up the rear.

They apparate into a telephone box which can only be seen by magical people near to the fish and chip shop.

Hermione squeezes Harry’s arm comfortingly as they step out into the night air again. “It’ll get better, Harry.”

“Not with ponces like Smith.” Ron grumbles.

Neville sighs. “We’re gathering more support but it’s not exactly easy.”

Harry shrugs. “Let’s just…forget it. Tonight’s about Hermione.”

They all echo their agreement and fifteen minutes later they’re carrying steaming packages of food through the rainy streets back to Hermione’s place.

Hermione suddenly stops and frowns. She pushes her carry-bag of food over to Harry as she dives into her handbag. “Something’s humming…” she mutters and pulls out the crystal ball which is glowing. “Oh!”

The ball suddenly flashes a brilliant white…they blink… and there’s a slap of pure magical power which sends them tumbling…

“HARRY! HELP!”

Harry blinks the spots away from his vision and stumbles to his feet.

The ball is floating above what looks like a whirlpool only it’s in the middle of the road. Hermione is being pulled towards it although she’s desperately trying to pull away from it, hands reaching out…

Harry immediately lunges and tries to grab her hands…

But it’s too late.

Hermione gives a scream and the whirlpool swallows her up.

Harry doesn’t even think, doesn’t even hear the others call out to him or the way Ron tries to stop him – Harry dives into the whirlpool after his best friend.

There’s too much light and sound and…

He tumbles down and down and down…

His stomach revolts…his skin burns…

There’s a moment of silence.

He’s spat out of the sky, crashing through the canopy of a tall tree, boughs breaking his fall as his body hits one after another until there’s just a drop between him and the snowy ground below.

Somehow Harry manages to mumble out the words for a cushioning spell Oliver Wood had taught him when he’d started playing Quidditch.

There’s still an audible thump as he finally lands on the invisible cushion; he bounces.

And bounces.

And bounces.

And manages to slide off to stand on wobbly feet.

Above him the whirlpool is still there in a mid-day sky; an ominous crackling hole in a cloudy blanket over a pale sun. He lifts a trembling hand and is surprised to find his glasses perched on his face; apparently they do live up to their sales pitch to never fall off.

A scream shatters the silence.

_Hermione._

Harry runs.

His wand slaps into his hand. He breaks through a bush and into a clearing…

“Sectumsempra!”

His spell lashes across the air and impacts the large wolf which was mid-leap in its attack on Hermoine who is desperately scrambling along the ground away from it. The cleaved body of the animal falls bloody into the snow-covered forest floor near to Hermione’s abandoned handbag.

Harry hurries over to Hermione. She’s shaking and clutching her arm to her. There’s a bump and scrape on her forehead and it’s bleeding freely. The rest of her face is a stark white mask; her eyes are shocked and glassy; she stares at Harry uncomprehendingly.

“Harry…” Hermione sobs. “I…my arm…” she tries to blink back her tears. “I can’t stand, there’s something wrong with my ankle.”

“It’s OK.” Harry soothes her. “We’re going to get out of here.”

Harry checks the sky. The whirlpool is still there, high above them. He takes out his miniaturised broom from his pocket, ignoring the cold and the flutter of fresh snow which begins to fall. He resizes it and sets it to hover.

Hermione shakes her head. “I can’t fly.” Her voice is thick with tears and edging towards hysteria.

“It’s OK,” Harry says again as he packs up her handbag and passes it to her, “I’m going to fly, you just need to hold onto me.”

He carefully picks her up and she gives a muffled cry of pain and grabs his shirt tightly with her good hand. A second later she’s a dead weight in his arms and he realises she’s passed out. He settles on the broom and nudges it to begin its ascent; as fast as he dares.

He keeps tight hold of Hermione as they weave through the trees and…

they’re almost there…

almost

there…

The whirlpool disappears with a clap of thunder and the crystal ball falls through the air.

Harry reaches out with one hand and snatches it to him as he nudges the broom to hover. It’s not glowing anymore and is back to the dulled glass Hermione had received for her birthday.

Harry shakes his head and carefully stores the ball in the handbag Hermione has somehow tucked on her lap.

The whirlpool is gone and it’s snowing.

It’s daylight.

He needs to get a badly injured Hermione help; he needs help himself.

But…where the hell are they?


	2. Lost and Found

Harry takes a breath.

If there is one thing waging war has taught him it’s that panicking never solves anything, or maybe it’s the one thing his entire childhood has taught him.

He takes another breath.

He starts to look around, trying to find something familiar. There’s a mountain range to the right; not very tall but significant enough that the peaks are covered by cloud.

Beneath him and for a fair distance in the other directions is a forest, the green peeking out behind the latest snowfall.

There’s more snow-capped hills to the back of him, the sides devoid of vegetation.

He can see a lake edging into the front horizon.

A rush of wind washes over him and he shivers violently. It’s bitterly cold. Icy. Hermione shudders against him.

In the absence of being able to get home and any visible help, Harry knows he needs to land and give her some first aid.

He adjusts their height so they’re just above the trees and begins a slow steady flight in the direction of the lake. He figures it probably holds the best bet for some kind of settlement, and in the meantime he keeps watch for a place to land safely to take care of Hermione.

It’s another ten minutes before a suitable spot appears.

He lowers them carefully and dismounts awkwardly. He clears the ground of snow, transfigures a rock into a bed complete with fluffy pillows and sheets even if they do remain grey in colour, and places Hermione carefully down. He sets up a fire for warmth and undoes his necklace to retrieve his emergency chest. He unshrinks it and dives in for blankets and medical supplies.

Hermione groans and starts to move.

“Easy.” Harry says, unfolding another blanket over her.

“Harry.” Her eyes fly open and catch his. “Ow.” She closes her eyes briefly, her nose scrunching up with pain. “Hurts.”

“I know.” Harry says, retrieving a bottle of painkiller potion. He helps her sit up and drink the vial down.

Hermione looks around them and frowns. “We didn’t make it back home?”

Harry shakes his head. “The tunnel thing disappeared. We need to deal with your injuries as best we can and try to find help.”

Hermione grimaces. “Yay.”

Harry smiles softly. “OK, so you know more first aid than me…”

“I have a concussion.” Hermione begins, her normally confident tone is shaky but he can see her visibly trying to keep it together. “My vision is OK, but my head hurts,” her hand flutters close to her bump, “and I feel a little dizzy and sick.”

“You’ve got quite an egg,” Harry confirms, “it’s stopped bleeding I think.”

“Hmm. Wash the blood away from the wound and cover it.” Hermione instructs. “Then carefully check me for any other bumps. I don’t really remember landing so it’s likely I passed out or was knocked out.”

Harry follows the order using a mix of magical and muggle techniques. They’ve substantiated the bump is the only head injury and Hermione is sporting a clean white bandage taped over the cut when they’re finished. She’s also covered in a faint sheen of sweat and still as white as a sheet.

“Shock.” Hermione diagnoses. “Once you’ve handled the rest of my injuries, you’ll need to keep me warm, keep track of my pulse and breathing.”

Harry motions at her arm. “We’ll tackle that next.”

Hermione winces as they shift the blanket.

Harry carefully cuts the coat away from her arm. It’s definitely broken but the fracture hasn’t split the skin. It’s horribly bruised already and swelling. He splints it and follows Hermione’s whispered instructions to create a sling which immobilises the arm against her body; he does another anti-inflammatory spell and numbing charm.

A quick scanning spell diagnoses heavy bruising along that side of her body; her ribs are bruised, her hip, her knee the same and her ankle has a very bad sprain. They determine it’s best to leave her boot on to give her support. She’s also covered in scratches and scrapes which he cleans; one or two of the deep ones get their own bandage. He wraps the coat back around her and covers her with another warm blanket.

Hermione huddles into the warmth, blinking back more tears. “Sorry.”

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry about; you’re hurt.”

“What about you?” Hermione asks tiredly.

Harry does the scanning spell on himself and shrugs. He’s bruised badly along his back and calves where he’d hit the tree branches; there are a couple of scratches – one on the back of his neck and one on the back of his hand which he hasn’t noticed before but now that he has, they’re stinging quite badly. He cleans them with another spell.

He reaches into the chest and pulls out some water. He carefully helps Hermione take a few sips. “I have some food…”

“I can’t.” Hermione presses her lips together tightly for a second. “You should…you should eat. You were hungry.”

His stomach rumbles as though to agree with her. Harry shoots her an apologetic glance but he grabs a chocolate bar, eating it quickly and washing it down with some water.

There’s an ominous howl.

Hermione jerks and grimaces with pain on the makeshift bed. “We should move.”

“There’s a lake. I think it’s probably a good few hours of flight time.” Harry says. “I’m going to head there.”

Hermione nods. “OK. Pack my handbag in your chest?” She looks up at the sky. “At least it’s still daylight.”

“Where do you think we are?” asks Harry, trying to keep her distracted as he quickly takes a few things out of the chest he thinks they’ll need and pops them into his pocket. He delves around until he finds the heavy suede winter coat he’d put in there one time and changes quickly. He has the rest of the chest packed up including her handbag, and shrunk back down in moments.

“I don’t know.” Hermione admits wearily. “It’s not the UK or we would have had Aurors popping in already.” She shoots him a knowing look. “Sectumsempra is on your banned list.”

“Is it?” mutters Harry, avoiding her gaze. “I must have forgotten.”

“Fuck them anyway.” Hermione says bluntly. “The whole thing is a bloody farce.”

Harry’s shocked enough at use of profanity to look at her wide-eyed.

“You saved their lives and they’ve treated you like dirt,” Hermione says, “I get so angry about it I could kill someone! Like that couple in the pub – you weren’t even doing anything! You deserve so much better.”

“Hey.” Harry cups her cheek briefly. “It’s OK.”

“No, it’s not.” She retorts, but she takes a deep breath. “I’ve never understood how you’ve remained so calm about it all.”

Harry shrugs and begins to set the broom up. “The wizarding world loves and hates me by turns, Hermione. It wasn’t exactly a surprise that as soon as they got over the initial ‘wow, we’re all still alive’ hysteria, they’d start looking at me as if I was the next Dark Lord on the horizon especially after the, uh, thing.”

“You have PTSD.” Hermione lectures. “It wasn’t your fault it was triggered by bloody Malfoy and his big mouth.”

“I didn’t mean to but I did put him and his remaining cronies in the hospital with a dozen broken bones.” Harry points out. “I’m lucky they didn’t put me in Azkaban on trumped up charges.”

Hermione huffs but she’s clearly waning. “It’s unfair.”

Harry shrugs and picks her up. He changes the subject because rehashing the whole banishment ruling is a waste of time. “So if we’re not in the UK…”

“It’s…we obviously got transported somewhere else. It’s probably America or Canada somewhere. There are time zones there which would be in daylight.” Hermione suggests.

“Right. So hopefully they’ll speak English.” Harry nods as he straddles the broom and settles Hermione in front of him so she’s sitting side-saddle; her back resting on his left arm so his right is free to navigate.

Her good arm snakes out of the blanket to grab hold of him again; her hand fisting into the toggles on the front of his coat. “I hate flying.”

“I know but it’s the only method of transport we have. We can’t risk apparating when you’ve got a broken bone.” Harry says matter-of-factly.

Hermione attempts a smile but can’t quite manage it. Harry casts another spell to have the blanket wrap around her like he’s swaddling a baby. She doesn’t protest it.

He rises slowly, barely off the ground and sets off. While it would be quicker above the trees, it’’ll be too cold. He expertly weaves them through the woodland, heading towards the lake. Hermione does her best to shift with Harry; to relax as much as she can on a broom.

“Do you think Molly knew?” asks Hermione out of nowhere. She’s raised her voice a little so he can hear her.

“I don’t think so.” Harry says.  Molly’s a good woman at heart and Harry believes her gift was well-meant. He thinks back to the street and the moment it happened. “Ron was shocked.”

“Thank you.” Hermione says.

He dips his head a moment to look at her questioningly.

“For saving me.”

Harry snorts. “If we kept track of who saves who, I think you’d come out ahead.” He really couldn’t imagine how he would have gotten through the past two years – hell, the past ten years without her.

Hermione hums and snuggles into him more. “Well, thank you anyway.”

She slumps against him a few minutes later; asleep rather than unconscious since she starts to snore. Harry can’t blame her. He’s tired and achy but he needs to get them to safety.

It starts snowing again; a curtain of white snowflakes that make Harry decrease their speed even more as his visibility becomes compromised. He sets an impermeable charm to keep the wet off them as he carefully threads a path through the trees.

He flies for a over an hour before he calls a halt and stops for a rest. He sets Hermione down again, transfiguring a log into a bed for her. He goes to the bathroom behind a nearby tree before he sits on the edge of the bed, eats another chocolate bar and sips some water.

Regretfully he wakes Hermione from her slumber. They stumble through an embarrassing ten minutes as he helps her through a toilet break of her own behind another tree. She’s breathless and in pain again when she’s finished. He picks her up and settles her back on the bed. She accepts a small chunk of chocolate which she sucks on for a little while. She drinks down half a bottle of water and accepts another vial of pain potion without complaint.

“It’s getting dark.” Hermione frowns up at the sky. “Will we be able to get to the lake before sundown?”

“Maybe.” Harry gestures out at the snow. His charm is keeping it off them but even with the tree canopy above them, the ground is beginning to get a deep covering of snow.

“This reminds me of Christmas and Godric’s Hollow when we were on the run.” Hermione murmurs.

Harry cocks his head as something occurs to him. “Do you…” he shakes his head, “nope, never mind.”

“What?” asks Hermione.

“It’s just…we went from night to day.” Harry points out. “Maybe it’s a time-zone thing or…”

“Or maybe we got transported in time.” Hermione catches on quickly. “Maybe, but I think we were translocated as well otherwise we would have just landed back in the street.”

“We would have been nearer help if we had.” Harry begins to pack up. They can’t afford any more dallying if they are to make it to the lake before dark.

It’s slow-going.

Hermione curls up against him and closes her eyes. But this time she whimpers in her sleep as though her pain has followed her into dreams.

Harry flies without stopping until the twilight begins to creep into the dark.

Hermione doesn’t argue with the decision to stop. She can’t help much but she’s patient while he constructs some shelter. It’s not great – he’s too tired but they have a bed so they don’t have to sleep on the ground, there’s a roof over their heads and there’s enough of a wall around them to keep the worst of the weather away.

There’s another bathroom break; some more chocolate and water before he settles them for the night.

He warms a rock to provide heat and clambers on top of the bed with a blanket of his own, careful to keep space between himself and Hermione because of her injuries. Hermione shifts closer anyway. Her good hand inches out to curl around his.

He smiles at her reassuringly and watches as she drifts off to sleep. He really hopes they find help in the morning.

His eyes are too heavy to keep open. He closes them.

There’s a sound.

His eyes fly open.

It’s still dark.

There’s something by the heated rock.

He freezes as he takes the size and shape in, the black fur. It looks like a grimm. Like Padfoot.

Harry’s heart beats rapidly in his chest.

The animal doesn’t come any closer. It stays by the rock. It’s not sleeping but lying like a sphinx as though waiting or guarding…

Harry’s too tired, he aches too much…he closes his eyes again.

The sun is beginning to leech light into the dark when he opens them again. He immediately checks on Hermione. She’s still sleeping. He slides off the bed and checks the rock; it’s still warm. There’s no animal tracks around it and he wonders if he imagined the grimm.   He stretches and grimaces as every bruise and scrape makes itself known. A visit behind the tree later he misses his small bathroom and all its amenities. He does the shaving charm and the dental hygiene spell. It’s easier than getting the chest back out to hunt for a toothbrush.

Hermione stirs and gives a small cry of pain.

Harry hurries over to her. “Easy.”

“This blows.” Hermione says roughly. “My arm is killing me.”

“I’ll get you some more pain potion.” Harry promises as he helps her off the bed. She limps using him as a crutch until she’s behind a nearby bush. He helps her enough that she can manage and then leaves her with her wand until she finishes and calls him over.

He helps her back to the bed and gives her another vial of pain potion. They really need food. His stomach is protesting the lack of a meal. He gets the chest out and hunts around for the ever-fresh box he’d packed in there.

Hermione watches with interest. “I never realised you had that.”

Harry shrugs as though it doesn’t matter. “I packed it the night I got the notice about the Wizengamot hearing.”

“You were going to run?” asks Hermione intuitively, because she really does know him best.

“I wasn’t going to let them send me to Azkaban.” Harry says. “I’ve just…updated it every so often since. Just in case.”

“You wear that necklace every time you’re in the wizarding world.” Hermione remarks as she accepts a foil package. She glances at the contents – bread and cheese – and takes a tentative bite. “I can’t blame you.”

Harry sits beside her and takes a bite of his own sandwich.

“My handbag’s kind of bottomless.” Hermione admits.

Harry glances at her.

Hermione tries a smile. “I started packing it with emergency supplies when I realised they were going to put you on trial and then…well, they passed the Muggleborn Act so…” she takes another small bite.

Harry nudges her shoulder with his very, very gently.

They focus on eating for a while.

Harry finishes his sandwich and drinks some more water. Hermione wraps the rest of hers up and accepts the bottle to drink down the rest while Harry stows the food away.

“I always meant to say thank you.” Harry admits quietly.

“What for?” asks Hermione clearly surprised.

“For helping me.” Harry says. “My plan was basically ‘run for it.’ You had it all worked out, the spell to bring us up to speed and sit our GCSEs and A Levels, and…getting the flats and navigating the university applications.”

Hermione smiles. “Someone has to look out for you.”

“I know it caused problems with Ron.” Harry comments.

Her eyebrows shoot up and she winces because her head is still sporting an egg-shaped lump above her right eye. But he’s not surprised at her surprise because he rarely ever says anything about her and Ron.

“That…it wasn’t your fault you know.” Hermione says quietly. “It was a lot of things.”

Harry nods as he shrinks the chest again and reties his necklace. “I know, but I know the amount of time you spent helping me was part of it.”

“It didn’t help.” Hermione admits candidly. “But Ron and I…” she sighs, “he asked me to marry him.”

It’s Harry’s turn for his eyebrows to shoot up. Ron had never said…

“It was after the ruling and the Act was passed.” Hermione explains. “He said if we got married, I wouldn’t have to worry about school or a career so it wouldn’t matter that the Act made it more difficult for me.” She blinks rapidly and brushes tears away from her cheeks.

“Hey, we don’t have to talk about it.” Harry says softly.

“No, I’m just tired and hurting that’s why I’m crying.” Hermione accepts the handkerchief he hands her. “It’s not…I mean, we were always a bit rocky and then…” she sighs heavily, “it was like he didn’t know me at all!” She blows her nose noisily. “He’s better off with Lavender. She wants to get married, have a family and be a stay-at-home Mum.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry says anyway.

Hermione takes a deep breath and winces again.

“Do you need some more pain potion?” asks Harry concerned.

“Better not.” Hermione says. “We don’t know how long it’s going to take us to get somewhere.”

Harry makes quick work of getting the broom ready and within minutes they’re back in flight.

The next hour is spent flying with Hermione dozing on his shoulder.

It stops snowing.

Harry slows as the trees start to become tighter. He brings them to a stop as his eyes catch on a thin strand looped between two trees.

“What?” asks Hermione.

He quickly shushes her and points.

Hermione stiffens. “That’s Acromantula webbing.” She’s careful to keep her voice low.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Harry whispers.

Hermione clutches at him as he slowly starts to rise up. They can’t go through the trees anymore. It’s not safe.

“Close your eyes.” Harry suggests.

“I hate flying.” Hermione complains miserably.

“At least we know where we are.” Harry says.

“Do we?” asks Hermione. “We can’t just assume this is the Forbidden Forest because it has spiders.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Harry says. “But if it is then we should be close enough to see across the lake to…”

“Hogwarts.” Hermione says as they both spot the familiar sight of the school’s turrets rising up in the distance.

Harry sets the broom’s direction and sets off briskly.

“Harry,” Hermione says urgently, “you can’t go to Hogwarts. It’s one of the prohibitions on your ruling!”

“Fuck them.” Harry replies, shocking her into silence. “You’re injured and it’s not like McGonagall’s going to turn us away.”

“Professor McGonagall, Harry.” Hermione remonstrates.

He smiles because it’s such a Hermione thing for her to do. The flight is easier above the trees but Harry has to keep casting warming charms and it’s not long before he feels Hermione shaking with cold against him despite her coat and blankets.

As soon as they’re clear of the trees, he lowers the height again to almost ground level. They skim over the surface of the silvery lake and Harry thinks he catches sight of a merman below the surface watching them.

He clears the lake and hits the Hogwarts ward without slowing down.

He only slows when he sees Hagrid’s hut.

As far as he knows, the hut was destroyed in the war and never rebuilt.

Hermione’s eyes are filled with concern as they meet Harry’s. But there isn’t a choice; she’s too injured for them to wait. He continues their trajectory to the front steps.

The large doors are already opening and…

Dumbledore.

Dumbledore stands on the steps.

_Dumbledore._

Harry brakes sharply in alarm and Hermione clutches at him as the broom stops.

“Off!” She demands. “Off!”

Harry helps get her straight and she immediately throws up, vomiting badly over the gravel drive of the school.

Harry supports her but keeps a close eye on the wizard who wears Dumbledore’s face.

It’s not the same Dumbledore Harry knew though; the robes are a traditional black not the colourful garb Dumbledore liked to wear; his beard is shorter and trimmed close to his face. He’s not wearing glasses and his eyes are shrewd and calculating; not hiding his intelligence or observation.

Harry shivers as the intent stare catches his. He knows Dumbledore’s probably reading his mind but he can’t bring himself to care; he’s still pants at occlumency so it’s not like he can stop him.

“Harry,” Hermione says shakily, “I’m going to pass out now.”

Harry breaks Dumbledore’s gaze quickly. He barely manages to catch her but he does. His own body protests; too much flying, too many bruises and aches. He holds onto her though and sweeps her up into his arms.

“We need help.” Harry says tersely as Dumbledore just stands there. He tightens his hold on Hermione. “Please.”

Dumbledore seems to consider him for a long time but it’s probably only a moment. “Follow me.”

Harry carries Hermione over the threshold and into Hogwarts.


	3. Hogwarts Help

Harry ignores the festive decorations and the very large tree that takes up most of the entrance foyer.

Somehow he isn’t surprised to see Professor McGonagall nor that she falls into step behind him. He does note subtle differences; her hair is short and styled into a sharp grey bob; there’s no hat; her black robe is open and not buttoned up displaying a stylish grey tweed suit with a matching green blouse. All he knows for certain is that the Minerva McGonagall who occasionally drops in for tea at his flat is not the woman stalking behind him.

There’s no sign of the students on their route but Harry figures they must have locked the common rooms down when Dumbledore realised Harry and Hermione had entered the wards. Or maybe there are no students staying over at Christmas – there never had been that many.

Harry mumbles a featherlight charm under his breath as they get to the staircases. Hermione isn’t heavy but walking with her all the way to the infirmary isn’t easy. He’s just pleased that this Dumbledore has allowed them entry as they make the familiar journey.

They clear the infirmary doors and Harry automatically makes for a bed. He carefully places Hermione down gently.

“What’s happened?”

Harry looks up in surprise at not hearing Madame Pomfrey. She’s a step behind the witch who asked him the question. A Healer, Harry realises, taking in her green robes and the way she’s competently running a set of scans.

“She fell from a height.” Harry says cautiously, not sure how much he should share. He probably won’t get out of telling Dumbledore, but he’s learned to be wary about confiding too much in too many people. “When I got to her, she was conscious but disoriented. She has a concussion, broken arm and some heavy bruising to her right side. Her ankle has a bad sprain. We had to sleep rough last night in the forest so she’s pretty exhausted and cold.”

“Is the broom yours?” asks the Healer gesturing back at the door where the broom is hovering.

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rise.

Harry coughs. He had forgotten about the broom. “Ah, yes. Mine.” He whistles and the broom shoots across the room. He shrinks it and puts it back in his pocket.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen that model on the market before.” McGonagall comments. The gleam in her eye suggests she’s as Quidditch mad as the Minerva McGonagall he knows.

Harry hums but focuses on the Healer. “Is she OK?”

“Yes.” The Healer says briskly. “We’ll need to keep her sedated while the skelegro takes effect but the rest will do her good.” She turns and looks over her shoulder. “Poppy, please can you get her situated and administer the treatments I’ve specified.” She produces a piece of parchment from her pocket, taps her wand against it and hands it to Madame Pomfrey.

“Yes, Healer Dumbledore.” Pomfrey replies.

Dumbledore.

Now he’s heard the name Harry can see the resemblance in the nose, chin and the shrewd blue eyes which land on him.

“What’s the young lady’s name?” Pomfrey asks.

Harry swallows; he can lie but he figures he should be truthful where he can. “Hermione.”

The Healer steps away from the bed and focuses on Harry. “You, young man.” She waves her wand at Harry and frowns. “You’re in considerable amount of pain. Take a seat, please.” She motions for him to take the bed next to Hermione and Harry sighs and steps back, glancing anxiously at Hermione as he does.

Pomfrey smiles at him. “She’s in good hands, Mister…”

“Harry. You can call me Harry.” Harry replies.

A moment later the curtains are drawn around Hermione’s bed and Healer Dumbledore is encouraging him onto the bed to at least sit while she does her examination.

“I’m reading a litany of historical issues but the current damage is consistent with a bad fall.” Healer Dumbledore reports crisply. “Mostly you’re in need of a good meal, a warm bath, and some rest along with a lot of pain potion and bruising balm. You haven’t taken any potions since you were injured according to my scans.”

“Hermione needed it.”   Harry says, unaware that his chin has taken on a stubborn tilt.

“Ariana, I would appreciate some time alone with our visitor. There are a number of questions to ask him.” Dumbledore interrupts.

It’s confirmation that the healer is his sister which boggles Harry’s mind for a moment – he really wishes Hermione was awake.

“I’d prefer it if he was clear-headed for our discussion.” Dumbledore continues.

His sister pins him with a sharp look. “Healing comes first in this infirmary, Albus. We’ve had this discussion.”

“It’s fine.” Harry says.

Ariana looks at him searchingly before sniffing and turning back to Dumbledore. “You have fifteen minutes, Albus, and then he will be under my care and you’ll talk to him again at my say-so.”

Dumbledore simply nods his head. There’s no twinkle or sly smile – nothing but calm authority and acceptance.

Ariana huffs and heads back behind the curtain to Hermione.

Dumbledore and McGonagall approach Harry.

“I’ll erect a privacy bubble if that is acceptable.” Dumbledore says matter-of-factly.

Harry nods.

Dumbledore sketches a spell with his wand and in a second the bed and the two professors are surrounded by an viscous bubble distorting everything behind them.

“As we have limited time, perhaps you could tell us exactly what happened to bring you here.” Dumbledore says.

Harry nods again. “Yesterday…well, yesterday for us was Hermione’s birthday, September nineteenth.”

Dumbledore’s expression doesn’t flicker but McGonagall is visibly surprised.

“We went out to celebrate with some friends and Ron gave Hermione a present from his mother. It was his Grandmother’s crystal ball.”

“Ah, the tradition of matrimonial Seeing.” Dumbledore murmurs.

McGonagall sniffs.

Harry guesses she also shares the hatred of divination with her counterpart.

“We were walking back to Hermione’s flat when the ball started to hum and glow. Hermione took it out of her bag and…” he shrugs, “there was a bright flash of light, a power surge which knocked us for six. Hermione…she called out for help and when I looked at her, there was a whirlpool in the middle of the road.”

McGonagall isn’t hiding her scepticism.

“She was dragged into it before any of us could grab hold so I followed her.” Harry continues.

Dumbledore’s gaze seems to sharpen at that.

“The whirlpool tossed us out over the Forbidden Forest…”

“The what?” asks McGonagall.

“The forest?” Harry gestures out towards the window and the forest beyond. “Maybe you call it something different?”

“Young man…”

“Minerva,” Dumbledore intercedes, “I rather think he has a very good reason for calling it a different name.”

“You can’t possibly believe this tale!?” McGonagall says bluntly.

“I believe him to be telling the truth.” Dumbledore confirms. He holds up a hand to prevent her from speaking. “You fell from the whirlpool above the forest?”

“I broke my fall with a cushioning spell. Hermione wasn’t so lucky.” Harry says. “We realised with the location and the change of time we’d been transported somewhere else. We just didn’t know where. We tried to make it back to the whirlpool but it disappeared.”

“And where do you think you are now?” asks Dumbledore intently.

“Another universe?” suggests Harry, scratching his stubble absently. “Another timeline? I’m not sure.” His gaze darts back to the still drawn curtain beyond the bubble. “Hermione would probably know.”

“And what makes you so certain this is an alternate universe?” questions Dumbledore.

Harry looks back at him and meets his eyes directly. “Because in my universe you’ve been dead for three years, Professor.”

“Well, really!” McGonagall blurts out.

Dumbledore nods slowly though. “He’s telling the truth.”

“But how can his story possibly be true?!” asks McGonagall. “Travel between universes is not possible!”

“I’d quite like to know how exactly it happened myself.” Harry says, running a hand through his hair. He’s actually more bothered about how they get home.

“To work such magic is a difficult feat,” Dumbledore admits, “but it is not impossible as clearly it has happened. Do you have the crystal ball?”

“Yes, but I’d prefer Hermione gave you permission before I hand it over.” Harry says bluntly. “She’ll want to examine it herself when she’s recovered.”

“Smart?” asks Dumbledore, his demeanour breaking for the first time with his visible curiosity and interest.

“Brightest witch of our age.” Harry replies.  

McGonagall lifts an eyebrow. “You’re familiar with Hogwarts. I assume you both attended?”

Harry nods. “Same year; we sorted into Gryffindor.” He sees the minute softening of her features as she realises they were in her house.

There’s a chime and Dumbledore turns to the outside of the bubble where a blur of green can be seen. He takes down the bubble.

“Our time is up.” Dumbledore turns back to Harry. “I don’t believe you intend this school or students harm, but I think it would be best to limit your exposure to anyone until we have a better understanding of the differences between our two worlds.”

Harry nods again because that seems imminently sensible.

“You and your friend are welcome to stay, Harry. We will give you as much help as we can to return you home.” Dumbledore states, his tone ringing with a finality which has McGonagall looking like she wants to sigh – or roll her eyes.

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry says.

“Ariana, if you could alert me when Harry and Hermione are recovered enough for further conversation.” Dumbledore requests politely.

Ariana nods her head. “It won’t be until tomorrow at the earliest.” She gestures towards the infirmary doors. “I’ll set them up in a private room near my quarters. The students who remain with us for Christmas won’t bother them there.”

“Thank you, Ariana.” Dumbledore says, and the warmth Harry has been expecting to hear when Dumbledore speaks to his sister finally bleeds through in his tone.

Dumbledore and McGonagall don’t dally; they leave with nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement.

Harry is quietly but efficiently bundled off to a bathroom with a house elf. He soaks for a while in the medicinal bath salts Pomfrey handed him when he entered. He’s almost asleep when the house elf pops in again with a robe and he’s shown to a treatment room.

Ariana enters and nods at him with satisfaction. “The bath helped.”

“Lots, thank you.” Harry says. “How’s Hermione?”

“Sleeping. Her injuries have been treated and we’ve dealt with the concussion. You did a good job with the splint.” Ariana tells him. “She’ll make a full recovery in a couple of days.”

Harry breathes out, relieved.

She starts to scan him again. “You have some lingering bone density issues, possibly due to malnutrition in your childhood. I’ll prescribe a potion for you to take to assist. You’re also missing some standard vaccinations for dragon pox and magical measles. I’d like to administer those just to be careful.”

Harry accepts with a nod.

“The scar on your forehead is a cursed scar.” Ariana says bluntly. “You received this as a child?”

“I was just over a year old. A dark wizard killed my family and tried to kill me.” Harry explains succinctly.

“I have some salve which will help it fade. It won’t disappear but it will be less distinguishable.” Ariana says briskly.

Harry looks at her surprised. “That would be great, thank you.”

Ariana pauses the scan suddenly and lowers her wand. She catches his gaze firmly. “Your magic is unstable.”

“Yes.” Harry says, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

“You haven’t seen a healer for the trauma?”

Harry frowns. “They told me nothing could be done.”

Ariana raises her eyebrows. “They lied.”

Harry absorbs that numbly because of course they lied. “When I was told there wasn’t a magical treatment, I saw a psychologist – a squib who had been educated in the muggle discipline – on the advice of a friend.” He admits. “They’ve helped.” Hermione had been right that the psychologist he’d seen had been able to help Harry find a way to deal with his PTSD, and his magic had settled. But then it was rare he was somewhere it would be provoked.

“We’ll set that to one side for now.” Ariana says, not unsympathetically but with enough briskness Harry doesn’t feel she’s pitying him. “You’re exhausted and your body is one big bruise. That needs to be handled before we determine anything further.”

Harry doesn’t argue with her diagnosis.

“I’ll send Poppy in to provide your treatment.” Ariana says.

He’s too used to Pomfrey to mind much when she bustles in, treats his bruising, doses him with potions and forces him to eat two cups of beef broth. Once he’s done, he’s left to change into a set of plain pyjamas and he’s shown to a private room.

Hermione is already washed and dressed in infirmary pyjamas, fast asleep in one bed. Harry takes the other.

For a long while he doesn’t think he’ll sleep, there are too many thoughts whistling through his head and competing for space in his brain.

He can barely believe they’re in a different world, but they must be. Why else would Dumbledore be alive and be so different from the doddering grandfather persona his Dumbledore had assumed? This Dumbledore looks competent and assured; old but with all his marbles.

Harry sighs. He had a complex relationship with his own Dumbledore, and even with the war over for a while, he’s not entirely certain he’s come to terms with all the manipulations Dumbledore put him through. In the cold light of day, Harry knows his Dumbledore raised him to give his life for the wizarding world. His every decision with Harry had been to lead Harry along that path of self-sacrifice, of believing his own life held little value except for his role as The Boy Who Lived.

God.

He hates that moniker.

He’s not doing this, Harry tells himself firmly. He’s not dwelling on Dumbledore’s machinations and Snape’s creepy fixation on his mother or losing Sirius…

He’s not.

He’s spent too much time already since the war coming to terms with just how much he had been manipulated; how badly he’d been let down by the adults around him. Even Sirius who Harry loved despite only knowing his godfather a short time…or perhaps it’s more truthful to say he loved the idea of Sirius; of someone who would take care of him, love him.

And Sirius had loved him for all his faults.

Harry knows that.

Sirius had loved him.

He blinks back the press of tears.

He’s tired.

It’s been a horrible, horrible twenty-four hours of surviving some kind of interdimensional whirlpool, barely managing to rescue Hermione and keep her well enough to find help.

That’s all it is.

He’s tired.

He rubs a hand over his face.

In truth, he knows he’s due a meltdown.

Although really the last time he’d had a meltdown it had led to the whole banishment ruling and…

He knows Hermione thinks he’s handled it all fine; the truth is he hasn’t. But he’d told her the truth; it’s nothing more than what he expected. Nothing more than what Dumbledore raised him to expect. The wizarding world’s hero one day; it’s villain the next. Exiled for most of his childhood and all of his Summers. What does it matter to Harry to be exiled again? At least he doesn’t have to put up with the Dursleys anymore.

He hadn’t even fought it.

He knows part of him thinks that on some level he deserved it, because he had put Malfoy and his cronies into the hospital.

That first night back at Hogwarts after the war, after the Summer. They’d gone back to finish their schooling. He’d been so angry at the sight of Malfoy. Sitting back at the Slytherin table. Sneering and haughty as though he hadn’t spent the previous years cowering to a monster; as though he hadn’t tried to kill Harry and his friends. Maybe he hadn’t thrown them completely to his mad Aunt Bella when they’d been captured but…

Harry had lost control when Malfoy had tried to start up the same bullying as he always had; when he’d taunted Hermione about the word carved into her flesh when she’d been tortured.

Mudblood.

Harry’s magic had surged out of him like a tsunami and taken down Malfoy and his friends with a single blast of power. It had probably only been the fact that everyone hates the Malfoys and the Death Eater collaborators which had saved him from prison.

Chaos magic.

The Healer he’d seen in the wake of it had said there was no treatment.

Maybe they hadn’t lied.

Maybe in Harry’s universe there wasn’t a treatment.

Maybe.

All he knows is his magic hadn’t been the same ever since. He can feel it under his skin; he feels it with every move, every thought. Power at his fingertips and he knows the damage he could do with it.

He doesn’t fool himself.

He and Riddle had had far too much in common for him to do that. One different choice, one different turn…he could have been the next Dark Lord.

Maybe it’s for the best that he’s exiled.

Out of the way of temptation to take that step into the Dark.

Although truthfully sometimes he thinks Hermione is the only reason why he hasn’t ended up a Dark Lord.

He has a good life thanks to Hermione.

It’s not just that she’d bossed him into getting muggle treatment from a squib. She’d sorted getting them a tutor to complete their magical education; organised for them to sit the exams in France to ensure they had an ICW recognised qualification to enable them to keep their wands. And she’d ensured they had learned everything they needed to attend the university too; cramming the years of muggle schooling they’d missed into a year of hell.

But they’d succeeded. He enjoys his law and social science degree. He’s thinking about going into social work focusing on at risk children.

He has a future.

It’s definitely not the future he’d seen for himself when he’d been younger and foolish enough to believe the wizarding world would be his chance at a happy ending.

It’s not even the future he’d dreamed about stuck in the tent during the war; that had been nothing that special. Just a life of peace in the magical world without the threat of Voldemort. A family. A good job and a stable life. Something he’d yearned for. Something he’d thought he might never get.

_Open me at the close._

He’d let go of that dream when he’d walked to his death.

And after…maybe dating Ginny had been his final attempt and that had gone up in flames. Literally. She’d set him on fire during their last argument. Magical fire which hadn’t done anything more than tickled but _fire_.

Harry misses Ginny sometimes.

He thinks maybe she’s a bit like Sirius in truth; maybe he just misses the idea of her more.

He shifts, changing position.

His back doesn’t hurt as much now, he muses. He opens his eyes and looks over at Hermione. She’s sleeping soundly, soft snores occasionally escaping her. He hopes she isn’t in pain anymore. He had hated seeing her so injured. It brings back too many memories of the war.

_There’s a flash in his head; screams and blood and Bellatrix cackling._

He closes his eyes tightly as though he can shut out the image.

Harry has no idea how he would have survived the war without Hermione. She was with him every step. He knows if he had told her she would have walked beside him to Voldemort. She’s been his comfort and his support in the muggle world.

He knows Hermione’s choices have been made with him in mind. Yes, the writing had been on the wall with the revised Muggleborn Act, but before if anyone had asked him to place a bet on who would have a chance of succeeding despite the Act, Harry’s money would have been on Hermione. Maybe if he had been stronger, if he’d kept control of his magic, he might have been able to have done something to fend off the law but he’d been exiled before it had all come to fruition.

He doesn’t deserve her, but he’ll hang onto her as tightly as he can for as long as she lets him.

He snuggles further into the duvet and falls asleep to the comforting snores of his best friend.

Something wakes him.

It’s not Hermione although she’s continued to snuffle in her sleep. It sounds like…purring.

He blinks and looks across the dimly lit room. There’s a cat-shaped lump curled up behind Hermione’s knees on her bed. It looks like Crookshanks.

Harry frowns but he’s tired and Hermione is safe. He drifts back into sleep almost absently.

The sound of the curtains being drawn back wakes him next. He startles awake so suddenly the house elf gives a small cry and pops away.

Harry rubs a hand over his face and slides out of the bed. He checks briefly on Hermione but she hasn’t stirred. He wanders out to the bathroom and follows his usual morning routine. When he gets out of the shower, he finds clean pyjamas waiting for him on the stool where he’d placed the discarded clothes. He goes back to the room, and finds Hermione beginning to stir.

He hurries over to her. “Hermione.”

Hermione grimaces and opens her eyes slowly. She smiles at him before comprehension slams into her eyes. She takes a sharp breath.

Harry takes her hold of her hand quickly. “We’re safe.” He promises. “We’re at Hogwarts and we’ve been treated for our injuries.”

Hermione presses her lips together and swallows. He turns and pours her a glass of water, helping her to sit up and sip it.

“Thank you.” Hermione says. She checks her previously broken arm. “It still aches.”

“It’s just healed.” Harry says. “Hermione, do you remember when we got here at all?”

Hermione nods slowly. Her gaze meets Harry anxiously. “I think I may have hallucinated.”

“You didn’t.” Harry tells her firmly. “That was Dumbledore standing on the steps.”

“But…” Hermione’s eyes widen. “Time travel?”

Harry shakes his head. “He’s different. I think we travelled to another universe.” He pushes his glasses back up his nose. “The Healer is his sister.”

“Oh my.” Hermione says. “That’s…”

“Weird.”

Hermione’s mind is as always running ahead. “The crystal ball must have had some kind of spell attached to it. We need to examine it.”

“I think Dumbledore had the same idea.” Harry admits.

Her gaze returns to him and he reads the concern there.

Harry shrugs. “I told him about the ball, the whirlpool thing and how we got injured. I’ve used our first names only. He’s agreed for us to stay here and help us get back home.” He motions around the room. “He’s asked we stay out of sight of the students and I think it’s the Christmas holiday.”

“You did the right thing.” Hermione assures him.

There’s a knock on the door and Pomfrey arrives. She scans Hermione, confirms she’s well on the mend, and hustles her away for a bath and treatment.

Harry follows Pomfrey’s departing order and gets back in bed. The house elf pops in again with a tray of food. It’s a full English, with juice and tea.

“Thank you.” He says to the elf who stares at him with oversized eyes, their ears flickering. “I’m sorry for startling you earlier.”

“Kitsy doesn’t mind.” Kitsy replies a little timidly. “If yous be wanting anything, call for Kitsy.” She pops out before he can say anything else.

He almost devours his breakfast, but forces himself to slow down and eat properly. He’s mopping up the last of the fried egg with the last of his toast when Hermione appears.

She’s escorted into the room by Pomfrey.

Hermione gives Harry a tentative smile as she gets back in her own bed.

Kitsy arrives with a tray of food; oatmeal with some stewed berries, some soft scrambled eggs on toast. The elf blushes purple when Hermione thanks her.

Harry waits until she’s finished eating before he starts talking. “Dumbledore’s sister says there’s a treatment for the problem with my magic.”

“I thought the healers said there wasn’t anything.” Hermione frowns.

Harry stays silent.

Hermione sighs heavily. “Why do I suspect the treatment doesn’t just exist here?”

“Because you’re even more cynical about the wizarding world than I am these days.” Harry says.

She snorts but doesn’t disagree.

“I hope it is that they just didn’t have one back home.” Harry’s fingers worry the edge of the sheet. “She said she’d talk to me about the treatment later.”

Hermione nods. “Good. If they have something to help you that’s good.”

Neither of them say that it won’t make a difference to the ruling. Even if Harry is treated, when they return home he’ll still be exiled to the muggle world.

“Hopefully we’ll be able to stay until I get it then.” Harry replies.

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Hermione admits. “I have no idea how we’re going to get home and even if we do get help…” she grimaces, “we could be here for some time. I mean, I had no idea there was any kind of magic which could displace us from our own universe.”

Harry nods. “We should probably speak to Dumbledore and work out a plan.”

“Professor Dumbledore, Harry.”

Harry grins at her usual remonstration and her eyes narrow dangerously.

“What’s so funny?”

Harry doesn’t stop smiling at her. “I’m just really happy you’re OK.”

Hermione’s expression softens. “Me too.” Her hand reaches out across the gap between their beds and he takes hold of it, a little surprised at her fierce grip. “I’m really glad you’re OK too, Harry.” Her face sets with determination. “And don’t worry, we’ll get home.”

“I’m not worried.” Harry says truthfully. “I’ve got you on the case.”

She laughs but he can tell she’s pleased.

It’s going to be OK, Harry thinks to himself; it’s going to be OK because they have each other and they’ve already survived a war and exile...interdimensional travel should be a breeze by comparison.

Right?

But maybe, Harry considers seriously as Ariana sweeps in to scan them again, maybe he shouldn’t jinx them.


	4. Magical Theories

Truthfully, Harry is surprised that Hermione follows Ariana’s order and rests for most of the morning. It’s probably a testament to how badly she was hurt which makes Harry’s stomach tie itself in knots so he stops thinking about it.

He retrieves his own pyjamas from the chest, his reading for his latest essay and settles cross-legged on his bed while Hermione snoozes.

After their lunch of a warming Scottish broth, freshly baked bread rolls, and rice pudding for afters, Hermione has regained some colour in her cheeks and there’s a familiar glint in her eye. She ties her hair back with a flick of her wand. She searches her handbag and comes up with a notebook and pen. She levitates the ball out of the bag and onto the cabinet between the beds.

She sits on her own bed, cross-legged but facing him. Harry mirrors her.

“Right,” Hermione mutters, “first question: how did we get here?” She waves her wand and sets the pen to make automatic notes.

They both look at the ball.

“It seems the obvious causal factor.” Hermione states. “The ball began humming approximately twenty minutes after we arrived outside of a magical enclave and into a predominantly muggle environment.”

“You noticed the humming.” Harry recounts.

“Yes,” Hermione sighs, “and when I picked it out of my bag it was glowing yellow.”

“There was a bright flash of white light and some kind of power surge.” Harry remembers. “It knocked us off our feet.”

“Not me.” Hermione corrected. “The whirlpool opened up below me and I couldn’t jump free of the pull.” She frowns thoughtfully. “It reminds me of black hole theory; a fierce gravitational pull which is hard to break free from.”

Harry nods in agreement. “You cried out for help and I tried to reach you but it was too late.” He tries to keep his voice even, to hide how desperate and scared he’d been in that moment. “I jumped in after you.”

Hermione smiles gently at him and her eyes warm with gratitude. “I managed to slow my fall when I fell out the other side.”

“I did a cushioning spell.” Harry says.

“That would have been better.” Hermione notes, looking disgruntled she hadn’t thought of it. It reminds him of a younger Hermione standing in the middle of a Devil’s Snare and wondering how to make fire. “Anyway, I don’t really remember the landing but when I came to the wolf was there and…” she looks over to him, “the next thing I know you run in and deal with it before it can hurt me.”

Harry shrugs.

Hermione taps her fingers against her chin. “So, we know that the ball and our translocation to what is probably another universe are most likely connected.” She looks hard at the ball. “Question two; what triggered it and will it be triggered again?”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up because he has definitely not considered _that_. “If it does trigger again, remember the cushioning spell.”

Hermione lifts her eyebrow but concedes with a grimace. “We don’t really know what triggered it, do we?”

“Well, something had to have triggered it because otherwise someone in the Weasley family would have ended up in another universe.” Harry points out.

“That’s right,” Hermione says, “so what do we know about this ball when it was with the Weasleys and what changed?”

Harry can almost see her mind turning things over in her head.

“Fact,” Hermione begins, “the ball belonged to Ron’s grandmother, Arthur’s mother.”

“No stories of universe hopping with Ron’s grandmother.” Harry supplies.

“Before Ron’s grandmother was a Weasley, she was a Honoria Crouch.”

“And suddenly it all makes sense because that family was completely cuckoo.” Harry comments dryly.

“Honoria’s mother was Elspeth Gamp, but Elspeth’s mother was Callidora Black.” Hermione thinks out loud.

“How do you know this?” asks Harry bemused.

“Grimmauld Place.”   Hermione answers. “I was stuck there for weeks before you arrived. I spent a lot of time in the library talking with Sirius.”

Harry suppresses the old hurt about that Summer, about Hermione getting the chance to spend time with Sirius while he had been forced to stay at the Dursleys.

“Anyway,” Hermione says, “if the ball is handed down traditionally by mother to daughter, it is very likely that this ball has only ever been in the possession of a pureblood family.”

“You’re not blood-related to the Weasley family.” Harry says.

“Exactly.” Hermione says. “My genealogy is a difference.”

“And you’re muggleborn.” Harry points out.

Hermione looks surprised at his suggestion, but she accepts it with a nod. “It’s also very likely that the ball has only ever been in the wizarding world. There’s a lot of ambient magic in the wizarding enclaves which does not exist in most areas of the muggle world.”

“It’s also not been used in a generation.” Harry says. “Maybe it developed a fault or…something.”

Hermione nods again. “I think that’s a reasonable theory. We’ll add that to the others.” She looks at the ball again. “Well, if it was me who triggered it by being near it, I think it would have already triggered again.”

“Or it just hasn’t got the power to do it again yet; maybe it’s charging.” Harry notes.

She grimaces but accepts that. “If it’s triggered by touch then we’ll take the precaution of my not touching it.”

“We can also ensure it stays in the wizarding world.” Harry says.

“And if it is some kind of fault…” Hermione’s brow creases, “actually I don’t know how we’d mitigate that.” She goes to rub her head but aborts just before her hand reaches where the lump had been. “I really hope it isn’t down to a flaw or degradation,” she continues, “if it is, it’ll be difficult to replicate to send us home.”

Harry nods slowly.

“OK,” Hermione says determinedly, “let’s work through each theory. Let’s start with the last one – the ball degraded, was flawed in some way and it resulted in creating a tunnel between universes as a magical accident.”

The pen in the notebook labelled the theory ‘Accident.’

Hermione frowns. “We may not be able to ascertain whether it will trigger again or be able to replicate what happened, and we’ll certainly not be able to replicate with any certainty of getting to our home universe rather than just another variant.”

“I’m not liking this theory,” mutters Harry.

“It’s your theory.” Hermione points out dryly.

“That’s probably why I don’t like it.” Harry replies with a grin.

Hermione rolls her eyes at him. “Moving on, the next theory is that the ball was triggered by being in the muggle world for approximately twenty minutes. So, it was either deliberate or accidental.”

“Deliberate?”

“Maybe something like an anti-theft spell.” Hermione replies absently. “The ball was an heirloom.” She grimaces. “Possibly it is an anti-theft spell and it triggered because I’m not in the Weasley line or it recognised I’m not a pureblood.”

The notebook scribbles ‘Anti-theft’ with three bullet points under it denoting the three possible triggers for the spell.

“If it is a spell that would be help us be able to determine a way back.” Hermione finishes.

“What if it wasn’t a spell, it just reacted to being in the muggle world badly?” asks Harry.

“We’re back to ‘Accidental.’” Hermione brushes a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “Right. We’ve covered the ball was flawed or the muggle world triggered it…that leaves us with genealogy or blood status.”

“Wouldn’t it need some of your blood to determine you’re not pureblood?” Harry ponders.

“It could have just scanned me, that would explain the humming and glow, but that assumes there is some passive way of determining I’m not a pureblood.” Hermione frowns. “I don’t know of anything which would enable it to do that. Let’s face it if there was such a way to test people for their blood status, Umbridge would have been using it during the war.”

“She would have been using it at Hogwarts.” Harry says.

Hermione gives a snort because it’s true. “So you’re right; it’s probably not triggering because I’m a muggleborn but…maybe because I don’t share DNA with the original owner of the ball.” She points at it. “I picked it up and touched it. Sweat, skin cells…it might have determined my DNA from those.”

“But that brings us back to some kind of anti-theft thing, doesn’t it?” asks Harry, shifting a little to ease his muscles.

“Yes.” Hermione says. “Or…or it was deliberately tied to me as a person.”

Harry regards her for a long moment. “You asked me if I thought Molly had known.”

“Did I?” Hermione blinks at him. “I don’t remember that.”

Her confusion is genuine and Harry sighs.

“You were kind of out of it,” he notes, “but seriously, do you think Molly would deliberately booby-trap your present?”

Hermione deflates with a long sigh of her own. “No.” She grimaces. “Not really. I mean, she hates that I broke up with Ron and I can’t blame her taking his side because she’s his mother.”

“She’s been fine with me.” Harry says.

“That’s because _Ginny_ broke up with you.” Hermione points out. “Molly’s probably still hoping that you’ll both get back together in the future.”

Harry isn’t sure that the horror of that isn’t written all over his face.

“Anyway,” Hermione says, “you’re right. I don’t really think Molly would booby-trap my present.” She pauses. “Well, I think if she was going to do something it was probably charming it to show me Ron at midnight or something like that – not send me into another dimension.”

“But if she’s upset with you, why…”

“Because she hates Lavender more than she hates me.” Hermione cuts in. “And she’s always been concerned that I’ll get in the way of Ginny dating you; marrying me off to Ron would take care of that.”

Harry’s not sure his eyebrows can creep any further up his forehead. “What?”

Hermione just looks at him pityingly and points her finger at him. “And that is the reason why she’s never had to worry really. You’re just oblivious about this type of thing.”

He can’t argue with that. “Getting back to the ball…”

Hermione shoots him a look which tells him she knows he’s changing the subject but she’s going to let him. “Right,” she takes a deep breath, “there might have been some kind of booby-trap tied to me personally. Unlikely but possible.”

The notebook writes ‘Vendetta’.

“But if it was tied to me we should be able to investigate and determine a way home hopefully.” Hermione finishes.

“So, what’s our next step?” asks Harry, changing positions and stretching.

“Well, we need to do some controlled tests on the ball.” Hermione says. “I’m a bit dubious about doing anything though until we’re both recovered. If we trigger it again…”

“We need to be fighting fit to deal with another trip.” Harry agrees.

Hermione nods. “Also, if they can help you with your magic…”

Harry doesn’t have to say anything; they both know that any help would be appreciated.

“OK.” Hermione says. “Until we’re better, the ball goes in a box.”

Harry slides off the bed, resizes his wooden chest and pulls out a container.

“Really, Harry, Tupperware?” Hermione wrinkles her nose.

Harry shrugs.

Hermione sighs and levitates the ball into the plastic box. Harry seals it with the lid and with a magical spell for good measure. She transfers it back to her handbag as he shrinks the chest down and ties the necklace back on.

“Next item on the agenda…” Hermione begins.

“There’s an agenda?” mutters Harry as he clambers back on the bed.

Hermione simply raises an eyebrow. “What resources do we have?”

Harry sighs. “The contents of my Gringotts vault, the Potter family vault and the Black vault at the time of the ruling.”

Hermione chews her lip. “So, a lot?”

“Enough that we don’t have to worry about money.” Harry confirms. Why they hadn’t thought to do that during the war was beyond him.

“Didn’t the bank fine you for the break-in?” asks Hermione bluntly.

“They did.” Harry confirms. He’s pretty certain the goblins had wanted his decapitated head on a stick but they’d settled for confiscating any goblin-made item in the vaults. Mostly the Black vault had found itself stripped of lots of useless but priceless items. Harry figures Sirius would think the whole thing worth it.

Hermione looks concerned.

“It’s fine, Hermione.” Harry says. “I have enough money.” He’d accepted full responsibility for the break-in with the goblins and he knows Hermione’s always felt guilty about that. But she’d had few monetary resources without her parents and Ron had little to his own name beyond the gadget Dumbledore had bequeathed to him.

“Well, I do have some money.” Hermione says. “I had a small trust fund from my grandfather so I had most of that converted.” She sighs. “The rest of my money is in Barclays back home.”

Harry thinks about the student account he’d opened. There’s not a lot in it – the money is a small amount to pay for his tuition and living expenses.

“Money sorted then.” He says out loud.

“We have shelter.” Hermione says. “But we’re very lucky they’ve allowed us to stay here.”

That they can’t count on that hospitality being forever is left unsaid.

Harry pushes his glasses up his nose. “They’re also feeding and watering us…”

“…and providing medical care.” Hermione finishes. “We’re really very lucky.”

“We should probably offer to compensate them – rent or something.” Harry says.

“Good idea.” Hermione nods decisively. “We’ll talk with Professor Dumbledore.”

A strange look comes over her face as though she’s weirded out by talking about a Dumbledore who isn’t theirs and who isn’t dead. He can empathise; he feels completely weirded out.

Hermione rallies because she’s Hermione and she instructs the notebook to turn the page. “What do we know about _here_?”

Harry blinks. It makes sense to take stock; do a risk assessment. He hasn’t though much beyond the immediate need to get help and to appreciate it.

“There’s an acromantula nest in the forest.” Harry blurts out.

Hermione doesn’t spear him with her ‘you’re an idiot’ glare which Harry takes as a sign she’s still recovering. “That makes sense because it looks like Hagrid is here?”

Harry shrugs. “I only saw Dumbledore and McGonagall.”

He can almost see her lips twitching with the need to correct him.

Hermione pushes her hair back over an ear. “I think I remember seeing his hut though.”

“You did. We did, I mean.” Harry confirms. He rubs his chin. “I don’t think they call it the Forbidden Forest; they were confused when I called it that.”

“OK,” Hermione gestures to the notebook and the pen obediently writes it down, “what else?”

“Well, Dumbledore obviously.” Harry runs a hand through his hair.

Hermione finally moves from her position as she reaches over and catches hold of his hand. “Are you OK?”

Harry’s caught by surprise at the way his throat closes up suddenly and the press of tears, the need to just…

The glass of water on the table begins to rattle.

Hermione doesn’t let go of his hand as she just closes the distance between them, clambering up onto his bed to envelope him in a hug.

He sinks into her arms for a long while. Breathes in the scent of her, the feel of her alive and warm. Lets the feel of her calm his chaotic magic.

Hermione inches back slowly and he lets her settle them both; sitting on the edge of the bed, side by side, her hand tight in his. She doesn’t speak, just sits beside him giving him her strength as he follows his therapy methods; deep breaths, focusing on his senses.

“Sorry.” Harry says eventually. He’d holding onto her hand and can’t quite seem to make himself let go.

Hermione just squeezes his fingers lightly; enough pressure to tell him she’s there with him.

Harry takes a deep breath. “Professor McGonagall looks different; her hair, clothes.” He worries at the edge of his pyjama top. “She looked like she wanted to take my broom apart and see what made it tick.”

Hermione’s shoulder nudges his.

“Also I think she hates divination just the same as ours.” Harry says.

Hermione raises one perfectly arched eyebrow in silent query.

“I told them about how you’d gotten the ball from a friend’s mother.” Harry explains. “Dumbledore recognised the tradition straight away. She was less than impressed.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Hermione says. “Professor McGonagall is a very logical woman.”

“She’s Head of Gryffindor I think.” Harry muses. “She seemed to soften a little when I said we’d been Gryffindors.”

Hermione bites her lip. “They didn’t recognise us?”

“No.” Harry says. “I’m not sure…maybe we jumped into a different year? We definitely jumped dates.”

“Maybe.” Hermione considers. “Nobody knows how other dimensions work but it’s reasonable to think that time might flow differently.”

Harry presses his lips together. “You already know about Dumbledore’s sister being the healer here, although Poppy’s still the nurse.”

“I remember our Poppy telling me that there used to be a healer.” Hermione says. “When the last healer retired, the governors decided to do a deal with Saint Mungo’s to send someone if there was a need instead.”

“Ariana seems very competent.” Harry remarks. “I think her personal history might be a lot different to what happened in our world.”

“Makes sense.” Hermione says. “Although if she did go through a trauma in childhood like in our world and they have a treatment here…”

“She could have been treated and recovered.” Harry breathes in.

Ariana Dumbledore on their world had never recovered from the trauma to her magic when she had been attacked by a group of muggle boys. She’d ended up permanently injured; confused and unstable until the day she had taken a step into the spell-fire between her brothers and Gellert Grindelwald. But if she had recovered…

“Having his sister in his life could have made a huge difference.” Hermione theorises matter-of-factly.

“He’s definitely different.” Harry gives in to the inevitable because he’s going to have to talk about Dumbledore eventually. “His clothing isn’t…odd. He hasn’t got the whole grandfatherly thing either. He seems…normal. I mean, scarily intelligent but normal.”

“That’s…” Hermione scrunches her face as she searches for a word.

“Mind-blowing.” Harry supplies.

Hermione hums. “I sometimes wonder if…” she breaks off before she finishes and Harry looks at her quizzically.

“What?” he prompts when she remains silent.

She moves to angle her body more towards him so they can see each other. “I don’t want you to ever think I’m making excuses for him or condoning what he did to you.”

His heart starts to pound because they never talk about it.

“He was wrong to do what he did to you, Harry.” Hermione says passionately, her soft brown eyes filled with conviction. “He made decisions about your life, about you, all to win a war which he could have prevented years before we were even born. You didn’t ever deserve the choices he made for you.”

Harry focuses on the tight grip she has of his hand; the steadiness of her gaze. Hermione has been the one friend he’s always been able to rely on; the one person who’s ever truly been wholly and completely on his side.

Even when he thought she was against him – the horrible Summer after the graveyard when he just wanted his friends to talk to him, to be there for him – and telling McGonagall about the broom in third year – all of it had been to protect him.

He trusts her.

So maybe he can allow himself to believe that she’s right; that the way Dumbledore had played with his life hadn’t been right; that Harry hadn’t deserved it.

“But…” Harry murmurs.

“But,” repeats Hermione softly, “sometimes I think he knew what would happen after it was over. Sometimes I think the choices he made at least helped prepare you for that.”

For living in the muggle world.

For living with the knowledge that he was feared and hated by many in the wizarding world.

For being on his own a lot.

Dumbledore’s choices had left Harry with a lot of scars – many invisible compared to the lightning bolt on his forehead but they’d made him a survivor.

He takes a deep breath. Another. His hand holds Hermione’s tightly.

“I think he knew because they’d done the same to him.” Hermione continues. “So he hid his intelligence and power behind the façade of a grandfatherly persona, emphasised his eccentricity so they wouldn’t look more closely than the colour of his robes. He hid.” Her thumb strokes over his knuckles. “But they still turned on him when they didn’t want to listen; when they were scared. And in the next breath, still expected him to save them. So, I think he knew.”

Harry thinks she’s right.

She’s always more right than she’s wrong, even when she’s wrong.

“I don’t think this Dumbledore is hiding.” Harry remarks.

Hermione doesn’t comment on his deflection; she just keeps holding his hand. “Well, maybe things are different here.” She sighs. “We need to find out exactly what is different and what’s not, especially if we might be here for a while.”

“Maybe we could ask for some history books while we’re stuck in here.” Harry suggests.

Hermione positively beams at him. “That is an excellent suggestion.”

Harry clears his throat. “Kitsy.”

He doesn’t need to look at Hermione to know she isn’t pleased with him for using the elf.

“We’d like some history books from the library if we’re allowed, please.”

Kitsy’s ears waggle. “Kitsy bes bringing you some books from the library.” She pops away and almost immediately pops back with her arms filled with books.

Hermione finally lets go of his hand – and he ignores how he misses the warmth of her touch – and starts to sort through the books as Kitsy disappears after Harry’s muttered thanks.

She clambers back onto her own bed with a thick tome. Harry picks one of the remaining books at random and lies back. His fingers skim over the gold lettering.

“A History of Britain: From Merlin to Modern Day.”

He darts a look at Hermione but she’s already enthralled in her own reading.

He wants to thank her; tell her he believes her about Dumbledore. Because he can see it. He can see clearly how Dumbledore had taught Harry the truth about the fickleness of the wizarding world; how the Summer exiles might have helped keep him enough in sync with the muggle world that he could return to it without too many issues.  But he doesn’t because Dumbledore might have done what he had thought best for Harry, but Dumbledore had also treated Harry as nothing more than a pawn, moving him about at his whim at the end of the day.

His heart beats fast again.

He can’t think about it; can’t allow himself to think about it. So, he pushes the thought away, opens the cover and starts reading.


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of child abuse

**Interlude**

Arcturus Black, Earl of Grimmauld, stares at the family tapestry with a frown.

It's a beautiful piece of art; a deep green background with the family tree delineated by shining silver thread. There's a new name written there now: Harry James Potter.

The name glitters with a magical glow.

He feels the corresponding deep inner knowledge that there is a new presence in the family magic – a powerful presence, but one steeped with pain.

Not a baby.

Arcturus is certain of that.

There's too much power, too much pain for a baby.

Combined with the sudden appearance of the name on the tapestry and Arcturus is bewildered; none of it makes any sense.

The name hovers beneath James Potter but there's no line to suggest that James is the father. Besides Arcturus prides himself that he would have known if the Potter heir had been serious enough about a dalliance to get a woman with child. He has spies everywhere and he knows that the only woman Potter had chased with any meaning had been the Evans girl.

Maybe it's an accidental pregnancy – regardless of how carefully they guard magic there are still accidents which happen…but, no. If it was an accident there still should have been a line denoting parentage between Potter and the new arrival.

It's as though this Harry is related but at the same time, not.

Not to mention the feel of Harry is adult – young perhaps – but not a child.

Arcturus reaches out and traces the name carefully. "Who are you, Harry James Potter?"

There's a ping as a visitor crosses the ward and Arcturus straightens, breathing in sharply. He has half-expected the message he had sent to be ignored. He strides out of his study and quickly through the passageways to the hallway where his head elf is helping to divest his visitor of outerwear.

"Lord Gryffindor." Arcturus offers a small bow of his head as protocol dictates.

Charlus Potter barely returns the nod and stares at him with hard brown eyes. "I got your summons. If this is another attempt at a rapprochement…"

"It's not." Arcturus doesn't allow the annoyance and irritation he feels about the refusal by the Earl of Gryffindor to accept the attempt to bridge the gap between their two families the year before to appear on his face. The rapprochement is vital to removing the stain from their family magic caused by his father's treatment of Dorea. Maybe if he hadn't waited so long after his father's death to make the approach but…Melania, his late wife, had been adamant that the attempt had to follow her own death. Sometimes he hates prophecies. "May we offer you some refreshment?"

Charlus shakes his head and straightens the cuffs of his stiff black robe. "I'd like to get to business."

Arcturus simply nods. "Follow me." He leads the way back to his study and gestures towards the wall where the tapestry hangs. "You'll see the reason I called you here under your line."

Charlus throws him a suspicious look but he looks towards the tapestry, tracing the lines of the Black family down to where his own name is outlined next to his wife, Arcturus' cousin, Dorea. He hears the sharp intake of breath as Charlus reads the name beneath his son's.

"Harry James Potter." Charlus murmurs softly. He looks back towards Arcturus who has taken up a sentry position in front of his desk. "You feel him in your family magic?"

"Yes." Arcturus confirms. "I came to check the tapestry as soon as I felt him appear."

"When was that for you?" asks Charlus, turning to face him fully.

"The day before last." Arcturus admits. He'd sat on the name for more than a day before giving in and sending a message to Charlus.

Charlus nods. "He's in a great deal of pain."

"Can you pinpoint him?" asks Arcturus, more bluntly than he would have normally, but Charlus isn't one for Slytherin tactics and he can see the bluntness land well with his fellow Lord.

"Not well." Charlus admits. "He's here in the British Isles somewhere North but other than that?" He snorts. "His presence is obscured and there could be any number of reasons why." He sighs and closes his eye briefly before opening them again. "Perhaps some refreshments wouldn't go amiss."

Arcturus immediately calls for his elf and orders them both a glass of whiskey. He directs Charlus to take one of the easy chairs in front of the fireplace and he sits in the opposite one gracefully just as the elf arrives back with the drinks.

They raise their glasses in a silent toast and toss back the first gulp with matching grimaces of pleasure.

"We're going to have to work together to tackle this new arrival." Arcturus says quietly but with confidence. "I know my family magic will not accept any less and I doubt that yours will either."

"You're right." Charlus admits, his tone surprisingly even-tempered. "But that does not mean I can accept your rapprochement."

"When we last spoke of this, you stated you accepted my apology for the wrongs done to my cousin Dorea by my family and for the time I took to attempt the rapprochement." Arcturus points out. "Surely those are the greatest divides among us?"

"My heir believes your heir tried to kill his friend, a friend who is like a brother to him." Charlus shoots back.

"Your heir's disapproval of mine is based on misinformation." Arcturus points out. "I have my heir's word that it wasn't him who tried to kill the werewolf and I know through the family magic enough of what occurred to know his silence is driven by family honour."

Charlus sighs. "I know you believe him and I accept that your family magic may have given you more insight but…" he holds up a hand to prevent Arcturus from arguing, "I think we'll all agree that the younger generation are all vague when confronted with what actually went down between them, but the fact remains that until the actual truth is known, I have to support my heir just as you have to support yours."

"And so no rapprochement." Arcturus states, ruthlessly keeping his disappointment from his tone.

"Not yet, but…" Charlus raises his glass towards the tapestry, "the boys are going to have to come to terms with whatever did happen because this is more important. I suspect this is going to force the issue one way or another, Arcturus."

Arcturus leans back at the use of his first name. It's rare that Charlus uses his first name although they had gone to school together.

"In truth, I've missed your friendship." Charlus says gently. "If it hadn't been for you Dorea and I would not have found each other."

Arcturus dismisses that with a wave of his hand. "I have missed our friendship too, Charlus."

"I might wish the matter didn't need to be forced this way but…" Charlus sighs, "I can't deny I'm pleased that something is forcing the issue. You shouldn't pay for your father's bitter pettiness or my son's misconceptions and I hate that Dorea is caught in the middle. She was devastated to hear of Melania's death and she hated not being able to attend the funeral to pay her respects."

As always the mention of his late wife tightens Arcturus' chest and for a second he finds it difficult to breathe. It's only been a year since Melania had died and he grieves for her every day.

"If anyone can force things with James, it's her, and she wants this matter settled." Charlus says.

"Then we'll settle it." Arcturus says.

It feels like a promise as Charlus nods in agreement. Maybe the words to agree the rapprochement cannot be used right then and there but they will be used within days not weeks or years. Arcturus can live with that.

They sip their whiskey and their eyes are drawn back to the tapestry.

"Have you ever heard of such a thing happening before?" asks Charlus.

Arcturus shakes his head. "No." He looks over to Charlus pointedly. "You?"

"No." Charlus breathes out in a long-drawn sigh. "Do you have any theories?"

"He's too powerful for a child and his presence is too formed. It's as though he entered our world as an already grown adult." Arcturus summarises where his own thinking has landed succinctly.

"Yes." Charlus agrees with a sharp nod. "But a young adult. I feel that. He's younger than James."

Arcturus inclines his head. It's very likely Charlus can feel the presence within his family magic much clearer than Arcturus can since Charlus seems to be in the direct line in some way.

"He's definitely related to the Blacks as the family magic would not have recognised him otherwise but there is no direct lineage." Arcturus waves towards the tapestry. "What it means for him to hover beneath your heir on the tapestry…"

"He's definitely a Potter and while our families are interwoven everywhere," Charlus gestures at the tapestry himself, "my marriage to Dorea is the most direct link." He purses his lips. "I wonder…do you believe it's possible he time travelled from a future we haven't lived yet?"

Time travel.

It was certainly a theory only…

"If he has travelled in time then why isn't the lineage showing? There should be a line back to James at least."

"Maybe, although perhaps the magic cannot recognise his parents as they have yet to be born?" counters Charlus.

Arcturus concedes the concept with a sigh of his own. He sips his whiskey and mulls it over. "He's very powerful."

"Yes," Charlus says quietly, "very powerful. He may be the most powerful wizard in the Potter magic."

Arcturus raises an eyebrow at that because Charlus has never been someone given to hyperbole.

"You sense the same." Charlus challenges him gently.

"He is powerful." Arcturus allows. Very powerful, and although he may be loath to admit it to Charlus, he knows Harry James Potter is probably the most powerful wizard in the Black family. That's huge given his own heir is a magical powerhouse, and it's not as though the Blacks generally are lacking in magical power. The three sisters from Cygnus' line are all magically strong.

"He's hurting." Charlus murmurs. "I ache to sooth him but I cannot find him."

"You've tried scrying?" asks Arcturus.

"Dorea tried practically the moment he hit the magic." Charlus confirms. "It's how we know he's in the country." He finishes his whiskey and sets aside the glass. "The scrying couldn't pinpoint him."

"If he is a time traveller, it could be Time herself intervening to keep us away from him." Arcturus suggests. "After all there is a potential paradox of a future generation running into a direct ascendant."

Charlus snorts. "You mean that muggle scientific theory called the Grandfather paradox?"

"Well, if he has travelled back in time and you were to meet, it's entirely possible the timeline will be altered enough that his existence may never happen." Arcturus lectures briskly.

"Maybe." Charlus shakes his head. "I fear the reason may be more prosaic than that."

"Oh?" prompts Arcturus gently.

Charlus is the one to raise an eyebrow. "Don't tell me your spies haven't already informed you of the strange activity at Hogwarts yesterday."

Arcturus smiles slyly. "What have you heard?"

Charlus looks at him with unhidden exasperation. "Albus called for a lockdown due to some unexpected visitors."

"Your wife's best friend tell you that?" Arcturus teases.

"Actually I met up for drinks with Tiberius in Hogsmeade yesterday night and overheard Hagrid." Charlus says dryly. "Minerva takes her vows to the school seriously."

Arcturus doesn't admit anything about his own source although he suspects Charlus knows who it is since it's hardly a secret that Sirius works at Hogwarts. "All I know for certain is that two young people arrived at Hogwarts injured somehow from being in the forest and in need of help. They were admitted to the infirmary and nothing else."

"Which is as much as Hagrid babbled all over the pub." Charlus confirms. "It's a strange coincidence, yes? That we sense this young man at the same time as two strangers appear at Hogwarts."

Arcturus raises his eyebrow again. "Neither you nor I subscribe to a belief in coincidences."

Charlus smiles. "Well said. So if the story is true and the young man is this Harry James Potter…"

"Then he's under Hogwarts' wards which may explain why the family magic cannot fully make sense of him." Arcturus concludes.

"It also explains why we couldn't pinpoint his location if he was in the forest." Charlus says. "The ambient magic there interferes with scrying."

Arcturus frowns. "If he's at Hogwarts…"

"Then he's under Albus' dominion." Charlus interjects unhappily. "I know."

Arcturus's eyes narrow on Charlus.

"Don't give me the stare, Arcturus," Charlus says tersely, "you're hardly the only one to notice how much power the man has accrued since his fight with Grindelwald." He sighs. "It was sheer good luck the majority of the Wizengamot felt that he couldn't keep his Chief Warlock status _and_  work at Hogwarts."

"If you know he has his own agenda…"

"He hasn't done anything yet." Charlus points out. "All any of us have regardless of our spies and informants is a lot of conjecture and theory. He's been a good Headmaster and he is a hero of the wizarding world whose opinion carries weight. He has a lot of influence." He grimaces. "Thanks to his friendship with the Croaker boy, James even considers him a mentor."

Arcturus frowns. "You haven't intervened?"

Charlus shakes his head. "James is a good man and he'll work Dumbledore out eventually, especially with Alastor's training honing his sense of paranoia. Besides, to go against Dumbledore right now would be foolish and reveal too much." His eyes snag Arcturus' pointedly. "You feel the same or you'll have moved on him already."

Arcturus can hardly argue with that. "He'll try and keep these visitors to himself if they have time travelled."

"Until Minerva pulls him up on the family magic aspect." Charlus states dryly. "She's loyal to Hogwarts, not to Albus personally thankfully, and I doubt there is any way he can keep their presence from her as his Deputy. I expect that we'll be informed within the next day or so once Albus has reconciled himself to acknowledging he needs to inform us."

That sounds like Dumbledore. He won't want to inform them but he will and he'll do it as though they'll owe him a great favour for what is nothing more than his magical duty.

"The trick will be keeping Albus from interfering even once he's informed us." Charlus murmurs.

Arcturus doesn't bother to agree out loud because he knows Charlus already knows Arcturus thinks the same.

"Have you spoken with James about the new presence in your magic?" asks Arcturus briskly, changing the subject.

"He's aware but he was about to head out on a mission." Charlus sighs. "He was concerned by the pain he can feel."

Arcturus figures they're all worried about the level of pain they can feel. Harry's presence vibrates with a soul-deep hurt.

Charlus' brown eyes snag Arcturus'. "Have you spoken with Sirius?"

"Briefly." Arcturus acknowledges. "He had a similar concern."

He doesn't share that Sirius is half-convinced that Harry's magic is in chaos. Sirius' sensitivity to chaotic magic is something they don't talk about. Anger surges within him again. Walburga and Orion are long dead but the memory of finding them whipping a four years old Sirius while the young boy protected his baby sister from harm is still as vibrant as the day it had happened.

"Perhaps it's not time travel." Arcturus says tersely. "There is a Witch's spell which can mask a child from the family magic." It was how Walburga had managed to hide Sirius' mistreatment from Arcturus for the first four years of his life.

Charlus frowns. "Perhaps, but it doesn't explain why the lineage is absent." He points to the tapestry again.

"True." Arcturus concedes.

"Well, whatever the circumstances of Harry's arrival here or his past, we'll look after him now." Charlus states.

Arcturus nods. "Agreed."

Charlus gets up from his chair and Arcturus rises to stand with him. They walk out to the hallway together in comfortable silence. Charlus pulls on his outerwear and offers a nod of farewell to Arcturus.

"Give my regards to Dorrie." Arcturus says quietly.

Charlus smiles and nods again.

A second later Arcturus stands alone in the hallway.

There's a sound on the staircase and he looks up to see Regina making her way down. His young grand-daughter is dressed in what has become the uniform of youth; jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Her black hair is tied back into a loose ponytail and she's far from the composed and icy image of Lady Regina Black which she wears in public.

"Gramps." Regina hugs him without hesitation.

Arcturus huffs a breath but he hugs her back. He's never been able to say no to her – and neither has her brother. If it hadn't been for Melania, Regina might well have turned into just another high society spoiled princess.

"Was that really Lord Gryffindor?" asks Regina as she eases back.

"It was."

"No wonder Siri said he felt a disturbance in the Force." Regina teases, looping her arm through his as they make their way to his study.

"Your brother said no such thing." Arcturus chides her gently.

"That's because he's a stick in the mud." Regina grumbles but there's too much affection in her tone for Arcturus to take the complaint seriously. Regina adores Sirius as much as he adores her. He knows Sirius takes Regina to the muggle cinema whenever she wants to go.

"Did Lord Gryffindor know anything about the new Potter?" asks Regina as they enter the study.

"He has a theory." Arcturus confirms.

Regina pulls away to examine the tapestry again. "Harry James Potter." She murmurs and her fingers trace gently over the thread. "Who are you?"

"That is the question." Arcturus says as he settles into the worn leather chair behind his desk.

Regina sighs. "Sirius told me about Hogwarts. Do you think the young man is this Harry Potter wizard?"

"I think it's likely." Arcturus says.

Regina stiffens and pales; her eyes turn glassy and Arcturus is up and out of his seat before he consciously decides to do so.

He hates the gift she's been given; the Sight she has to See; the gift of her ancestor Morgana Le Fay, the Lady of Black Lake. Melania had passed the guardianship of the Lake to Regina on her death.

He stops within a hand's breadth of her. He knows not to disturb her in the midst of a vision, had already learned that years before with Melania, but it's so difficult.

Regina blinks once, twice, and sways on her feet.

Arcturus is there to steady her. He calls for an elf and some hot chocolate as he chivvies her towards the seats he and Charlus had occupied.

Regina sighs at his fussing but accepts the drink he presses upon her. He sits finally in the opposite chair while she regains her composure.

"What did you See?" he asks her gently.

"Too much," says Regina softly and she shakes her head, "not enough." Her fingers tremble against the ceramic mug she holds.

Arcturus stays quiet. He wishes he could help her more but the visions are hers to bear. He'd also learned that with Melania. He'd hated it then and he hates it now.

The fire crackles and pops.

"War is coming." Regina says finally. "Blood will be spilled and lives will be lost." She shivers despite the warmth of the fire. "The wolf is at the door; the snake is in the forest. But the Grim protects the innocent; the lion defends the pride." She blinks again.

Arcturus rubs his chin thoughtfully, the prickle of his beard against his fingers comforting. It's not news to him. The signs of unrest in their society have been growing steadily stronger for a long while. It's the reason he's kept watch; the reason why he's so keen to ensure the rapprochement happens.

"I saw a young wizard standing between the dark and the light." Regina continues. "The sword of Gryffindor in one hand, a wand in the other. He's to be our protector; our shield." She looks up suddenly catching his gaze. "Harry James Potter."

"You saw Harry James Potter." Arcturus states, keeping the wonder and the shock out of his voice.

"He looks so much like James." Regina says shakily. "Hair as wild but his face…his nose, his chin…they're all Potter." She sighs. "But his eyes are green. They remind me of someone but I can't think who."

"What else did you see?" asks Arcturus, pushing her gently.

Regina sips her chocolate before she replies. "A witch from Guinevere's maternal line stands beside him, shoulder to shoulder." She smiles. "We're going to be good friends."

It's not a guess but a statement of fact, of knowledge.

Arcturus rubs his chin again. "Is there anything more?"

Regina shakes her head, regret flickering across her pale features. "Nothing of use."

Arcturus reaches out and takes hold of her hand. He lets the family magic swirl around them, soothing them both.

A harsh ringtone breaks the silence and startles them both. They aim a shared glare at the telephone on his desk.

"Sirius." They both say together because the family magic will have informed his heir as soon as Regina was overtaken by her vision.

Regina is quicker than Arcturus. She's sliding her hand out of his, dropping her drink on the nearby coffee table and skipping over to answer the call before Arcturus can move.

"Siri!" Regina's voice is warm with love and affection. "I'm fine. It was just a vision."

Arcturus resumes his previous seat as Regina perches on his desk and talks with her brother. She tells him everything she's already told Arcturus but she lets slip more details – the name of the witch being Hermione, the fact that Harry Potter has a lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and that Avalon still sleeps.

Arcturus tunes her out as she moves on to describing her day with her friends, the latest fashion trends and something to do with a movie she wants to see.

"I ran into Bellatrix in the Alley."

That arrests Arcturus' attention because the eldest of Cygnus' brood is dangerous. Bellatrix is a powerful witch, ambitious. She's already seen two husbands to the grave. Her third husband is a Baltic Duke and Bellatrix has lived abroad for the past two years on their estate. He had hoped she'd stay abroad.

"No, she was fine. Mean but fine." Regina rolls her eyes expressively at something Sirius says. "Like she's going to do anything to me; she's far too scared of you and Gramps."

Arcturus can only huff approvingly. Bellatrix had tried to bully her young cousin once when they were children and had felt the wrath of Regina's brother descend on her full force. She'd tried again as a teenager using magic and that time Sirius had put her in the hospital. Arcturus had given her warning then too. It had been the last time she'd tried anything with Regina.

"No, I don't like that she's back either but Cissy was with her and she said that Bellatrix was spending the holidays with her since she's pregnant."

"Yes, I know," Regina's face scrunches up, "Malfoy spawn."

Arcturus throws her a warning look because while the child may be Malfoy's heir, the boy will also carry Black blood.

Regina laughs and then hands the phone over to Arcturus. "He wants to speak to you."

She bounds around the desk, kisses his cheek and hurries away, snatching her drink as she passes on her way out of the door.

"Grandfather."

The sound of his beloved grandson and heir has Arcturus smiling. "Sirius."


	6. Midnight Marauders

Harry's eyes fly open and he's searching for the threat before he even consciously thinks about it.

He checks on Hermione first.

She's asleep.

Despite how he'd had to pry her away from her book for dinner, he knows she's exhausted. Growing and mending bones is never easy and she'd almost fallen asleep in her pudding. She had been ordered into bed by Ariana after the meal was finished and she hadn't even argued.

With confirmation that Hermione is safe, he slowly sits up, slides on his glasses and checks out the rest of the room. The shadows stretch over the furniture, crawl up the walls and along the floor. But there's nothing hiding in them.

A noise travels through the door; voices.

Harry slips out of the bed, grabbing his wand from the bedside table before he pads across the floor in his bare feet. The door isn't locked. He opens it noiselessly. The corridor is empty but the door to the main infirmary at the end of it is wide open with light spilling out into the corridor.

He blinks and for a moment there's a grimm in the doorway, looking over its shoulder at Harry. He blinks again and its gone.

He frowns.

He slips out of the room and follows the corridor down to the door. He's careful as he approaches, keeps himself in the shadows. He peeks around the doorway and into the infirmary.

There's a gathering around a bed. McGonagall and Dumbledore are at the foot of the bed; Ariana and Pomfrey are on the far side of the bed to Harry but their focus is on the occupant who Harry can't see. Three men stand on the near side but their backs are to him. They're wearing dark clothing – not robes. It looks like a combination of dark camouflage jackets and canvas trousers similar to the police SWAT teams. Two have short, dark hair; one has a curly thatch of honey brown hair but it's closely cut to his head too.

"Is he going to be alright?" asks the honey-brown haired man. The accent is Scottish; it's not someone who Harry recognises.

Harry keeps quiet and watches.

Ariana finally stops weaving her wand over her patient. "He'll live but he'll have a miserable few days of it."

One of the dark-haired men slaps the other on the shoulder. "Told you, Prongs."

Prongs.

Harry's breath catches in his throat; his heart races. His fingers grip his wand tightly. It can't be…

But it can.

Neither he nor Hermione have talked about it but Harry knows they've both wondered who else might be alive in the world in which they've found themselves. After all, if Dumbledore and his sister were alive, who else might have survived? He hasn't allowed himself to hope or worry about it but the names ricochet through his mind now.

Sirius. Remus and Tonks. His parents. Snape.

They're all possibilities. Maybe more than possibilities if Prongs is a nickname for James Potter in this world.

Prongs drapes an arm over the shoulders of the friend who had slapped him. "You were as worried as I was, Blackfoot."

Harry freezes. Blackfoot. It's so similar to Padfoot. Is that Sirius? His mouth goes dry.

The Scot clears his throat. "Thanks, Mam."

_Mam?!_

Ariana shoots the man an unimpressed look. "You really should have taken him to Saint Mungo's, Albert."

Albert.

OK, so another difference, muses Harry. Maybe there is no Wormtail in the Marauders in this world.

"The healers there aren't as good as you." Albert says, adding a sing-song note to his voice.

"And they hate werewolves." Blackfoot states bluntly. He doesn't sound like Sirius.

"Besides, you know Remus and he knows you, Mam." Albert continues. "Better for him to wake up here to Poppy and you than in some nondescript ward in the hospital."

"Your heart might have been in the right place but this isn't your personal medical centre, Mister Croaker." McGonagall retorts. "Try to remember that."

"Sorry, Aunt Minnie." All three men say in unison.

McGonagall huffs, shoots the Headmaster a look as though to say 'you deal with them,' and leaves the infirmary with a muttered excuse.

"You should get to bed, Poppy. You have the early shift tomorrow." Ariana says.

Poppy nods.

Harry takes a quick step back, making himself invisible as Poppy walks through and past him. He waits until she's through a door at the other end of the corridor which must lead to her quarters. Harry sneaks back to his previous position and stops when he realises Dumbledore and the three men are standing in a loose circle close to the door. A brief glance to the curtained off bed provides the reason for their move.

At the new angle, he can see his father…not his father – James Potter. He looks incredibly young. They do look alike; there's a similarity in their bone structure, the glasses, the messy hair. His eyes slide left hoping to see Sirius…

It's Wormtail.

Rage bubbles up but Harry suppresses it ruthlessly.

Peter Pettigrew is dead.

And this Peter Pettigrew, standing next to his father – no! Next to _James Potter_ – this Peter Pettigrew is not Wormtail here. He's the man called Blackfoot.

Harry frowns.

If Remus is the patient, Potter and Pettigrew are standing in front of him with the unknown Albert making up their fourth, where the hell is Sirius?

"What I have noted is that not one of you has explained how Remus came to be shot with a silver arrow."

Dumbledore's sharp remonstration has Harry abruptly tuning back into their conversation.

The three men look at each other, silent exchanges which clearly they could read between them.

Albert sighs. "It's classified, Uncle Albus."

Dumbledore regards his nephew with a stern glare and Harry is impressed that the man doesn't just immediately cave under the relentless silent demand for him to talk.

It's Potter who clears his throat. "Someone's been hunting unicorns. Moody wanted us to do some reconnaissance on the herd, Professor."

"Only in our other guises." Albert chips in.

Harry can almost see how Dumbledore's eyes sharpen on them.

"What did you witness?" The Headmaster asks.

"Seven in dark cloaks and white masks apparated straight into the middle of the herd." Pettigrew reports briskly.

"They acted like a pack." Albert adds. "They worked to cull the weakest, trap it."

"We were about to intervene before they could kill it when the centaurs attacked." James lifts his chin as though daring his former Headmaster to say something critical.

"It was chaos." Albert sighs.

"Which is when Remus got hit with the arrow." Pettigrew says. "'Course, it wouldn't have mattered if he wasn't a werewolf under his wolf form but…"

"We grabbed him and got out of there before they noticed us." James says. "Hogwarts is closer than Saint Mungo's."

Dumbledore gestures at him. "Do you have any suspicions as to the identity of the seven robed figures?"

"Where was your History of Magic Professor tonight?" asks James.

The disappointed look Dumbledore levels at him is very familiar to Harry. It's the same one Dumbledore used to give him when he said something against Severus Snape.

"Professor Black has my full trust, James." Dumbledore says. "You would be wise to lose schoolboy grudges which should have been over long ago."

Black.

Does Dumbledore mean _Sirius?_

"Black tried to kill Moony." James remarks sharply.

Harry barely manages to stifle a cry. He can't be referring to Sirius he can't – although he can't deny that Sirius as a teenager had apparently bullied the hell out of Snape and allowed him to go searching for Remus on the night of a full moon. OK, admittedly if Sirius ran true to form then there was every possibility that he was as much of a prat in this world during his younger years as he had been in Harry's world.

"Let me aide you in your investigation," Dumbledore says frigidly, "and tell you Professor Black is abroad in Salem representing Hogwarts at the Magical Institute's annual conference of academia along with Filius Flitwick. He has been in front of witnesses for the past few hours taking part in a debate on whether muggle subjects and qualifications should be introduced into our own standard curriculum."

James grimaces.

"It is long past when Remus Lupin should have told you the truth of what occurred between them." Dumbledore says gravely. "Tell him if he does not, I will. I fear we can no longer afford such misperceptions and misjudgements to continue with what is to come." He casts a look around the group before sweeping out.

"Damn it, Grizzly, your uncle can still scare the shit out of me." Pettigrew says.

"Do you have to be so uncouth?" asks Albert with a sigh. He leans back against a side table and crosses his arms over his chest.

"I tell it how it is." Pettigrew says. "Talking of which…what the hell was he on about?"

James shakes his head. "I don't know." He sighs. "You know Remus didn't ever want to talk about what happened with Black."

"Well, now I'm thinking that was a mistake." Albert counters. "I mean, Uncle Albie has always been disappointed about how we treated Black in school, but this was different."

"Yeah," Pettigrew notes, "it sounds like Moony might not have told us the full story."

Harry doesn't have to look at his – at _James_ to know he doesn't like that idea.

"Well, we can't exactly ask him about it now." James runs a hand through his hair. "One of us needs to report to Moody."

"I'll go." Albert offers. "You stay with Remus."

James breathes out, his relief evident. "Thanks, Bertie-Bear."

Pettigrew sniggers at the nickname and Albert whacks the back of his head.

"Oi!" Pettigrew protests.

"You deserved that, Blackfoot." Albert says serenely.

Pettigrew goes to retaliate but his move to put Albert in a headlock is aborted by Ariana drawing back the curtains around the bed.

James immediately walks over and the other follow him. Harry watches avidly.

"You can stay but don't wake him." Ariana says strictly.

James nods. "Thank you."

Ariana walks away from the bed, pausing only to pat her son's arm consolingly and kiss his cheek on her way out. Harry dives back into the shadows; his invisibility spell is still active but he really doesn't want to be found eavesdropping on the infirmary.

Ariana closes the door behind her though and the corridor momentarily falls into darkness before she lights it with a small ball of glowing flames from the palm of her hand as she walks to the other door and leaves Harry in darkness.

He can't open the infirmary door. He knows it would give him away immediately. He walks quietly back to his room and gets back into bed.

Harry stares up at the ceiling.

It seems unreal to him.

The man who in another life was his father is sitting in a room only a short walk away. He's keeping a friend company – the same friend who in another world was Harry's Professor, and later a friend to Harry himself for all Remus was wildly unreliable about staying in touch.

Four men. Four nicknames.

There's little doubt in Harry's mind that the four are good friends. This world's Marauders; Prongs, Blackfoot, Grizzly and Moony.

It sounds wrong.

Messrs., Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail.

That resonates with Harry as right, even if Wormtail had been lousy traitor in the end.

Pettigrew.

Is Pettigrew already a Death Eater? The black robed figures with their white masks sound all too familiar. Has his father's friend already started to betray them or is he loyal here? There's no way to know for certain.

Harry sighs and tries to make sense of everything logically, in the way Hermione would if she was awake.

He's tempted for a second to wake her but he knows she needs her sleep.

First things first, Harry tells himself sternly; the men in the infirmary are not much older than Harry himself which gives him a view on timing – he might not even be born. And there's always the possibility that he might not be born at all. He hadn't heard any of the men talk about his mother.

He pushes the thought of Lily Evans to one side and returns to his original train of thought.

Four friends. Young men. They were working for Moody and investigating suspicious activity, so likely they were Aurors.

Another difference.

His father had worked for the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius had been a part-time mechanic and a part-time barman; playing the role of the rebel rich boy. Remus had struggled and had taken part-time, cash-in-hand work in the muggle world. Pettigrew had taken some low level Ministerial job.

He'd found that out in an unofficial biography of his own life months after the war; months after the ruling.

He can't assume anything about the men in the infirmary, their loyalties and their history. All of it could be different. Certainly, the presence of Albert Croaker should give him pause as it's clear Dumbledore has an intact extended family and his nephew has ended up in Gryffindor with James Potter.

Whereas Sirius…had Sirius even been sorted into Gryffindor in this world?

Harry rubs his eyes tiredly.

He can't assume anything. They're different.

It's going to be difficult, Harry surmises, but hopefully he won't actually have to spend any time with them.

Which brings him onto the other side of what he had heard.

Someone's hunting unicorns.

He shivers.

Black robed figures in white masks.

In his world, this was the time of the first blood war. Riddle had been rising as a threat for years and had finally made his grab for power. Yet it sounded like the robed figures weren't usual; that this wasn't the middle of a war. No. It sounded very much like this was the beginning. And even if it was the beginning of a war, he had no proof it was Riddle.

The Knights of Walpurgis had been a movement Tom Riddle had stolen for himself. Like a cuckoo.

Riddle.

Voldemort.

Merlin but he hoped it isn't him.

Harry doesn't think he can bear going through it again.

He closes his eyes.

This isn't his world.

Hermione will work out how to get them home.

He has to hold onto that.

He slides into an uneasy sleep.

The morning dawns bright and sunny. Their small room is flooded with sunlight and somehow it makes Harry feel better as he gets up and gets ready. After Ariana's usual check-up with him where she gives him the all-clear and sets an appointment later in the day to cover the treatment for his magic, he eschews pyjamas for clothes stored in his chest – just his usual fare of jeans, jumper and sneakers.

Hermione follows his example after her own badge of good health, and they sit at the table in front of the window for their breakfast. She looks completely recovered; the colour is back in her cheeks and her eyes are alive with her usual spark.

Harry fills Hermione on the night's events while they eat. Hermione listens patiently to everything.

"For what it's worth, I think you're right." She says, gesturing with her cup of tea, "we can't assume anything. We can't assume who is on the right side and who's on the wrong; we don't even know the sides."

Harry feels a little lighter with her words. "It was weird seeing them."

"I can't imagine." Hermione admits. "I'm not sure how I'd feel running into this world's version of my parents." Sadness flits across her expression before she pushes it away and sips her tea.

"We didn't really talk about the books last night." Harry says.

Hermione looks slightly sheepish. "I did kind of fall asleep on you, didn't I?"

"Eh, interdimensional jetlag." Harry shrugs and picks up his coffee; he needs the caffeine after his disturbed night. "I think you're allowed."

"Well," Hermione says, "the book was fascinating. There was an entire chapter devoted to Professor Dumbledore. Apparently, Healer Dumbledore was attacked as in our world but as we suspected, she was healed. Her father was given a suspended sentence for attacking the muggle boys who were all obliviated. They moved back to Godric's Hollow in the aftermath."

Harry tries to assess what changes that might have prompted. "So, Dumbledore's family stayed together here."

"Exactly." Hermione says. "Not only that but his father, Percival, led a political movement based on protectionism and keeping the wizarding and the muggle worlds separate. He was very successful and became Chief Warlock."

"Wow." Harry murmurs.

"It led to a lot of changes. Importantly it changed how muggleborn are viewed here; they're not even called muggleborn." Hermione waves the cup, the tea sloshing close to spilling. "As soon as a child is added to the magical register at birth, the Ministry is sent to the home and the parents are relocated to a wizarding enclave as though they're in a witness protection scheme. The children all attend mandatory primary schools together. Not only that but there's proper muggle studies mandatory all the way through schooling where everyone is taught how to blend if they are in muggle culture."

Harry looks at her in disbelief. "They're just relocating people? I can't see too many people going for that."

"They gloss over it but I have a feeling there's magic used to force compliance." Hermione admits. "They also have a really close relationship with the muggle government surprisingly. But it's used to enforce a really strict Statute of Secrecy and to ensure the latest muggle cultural information is available to the wizarding world." She leans forward excitedly. "They have working televisions, radios, cinemas, cars – everything! If muggles invent something, the wizarding world introduces its variant too."

Harry's amused by her enthusiasm. "I don't think I've ever seen you so excited about technology."

"Just because I'm hopeless at connecting all the cables on my TV, doesn't mean I don't appreciate it." Hermione retorts but her eyes are sparkling.

"You're just addicted to The West Wing."

Hermione sniffs. "It's brilliantly written and you say that like you're not just as addicted."

It was a clever show. Jed Bartlett was the man Harry wished he'd had as a father figure; human and not without flaws but ostensibly a good man.

"Anyway, it is the same year here as the one we left." Hermione says.

"I don't get that." Harry take another gulp of coffee.

Hermione shrugs one shoulder. "Me either but I think time must flow differently. Everything happens almost twenty years later than our own history books." She pushes her hair back behind one ear. "Back to Dumbledore's history; he did meet Grindelwald, but only briefly according to the book, before he left on a world tour with his friend Elphias Doge. He was in France working with the Flamels when the war broke out."

"He wasn't working here?" asks Harry.

"No," Hermione shakes her head, "he went on to become a war hero. Fought with the French Resistance." She sets her empty tea-cup down and reaches to grab the tea-pot to pour another. "He didn't come back to England until a few years after the war and his fight with Grindelwald."

"Why did he come back?" asks Harry.

"According to the book, because his father fell ill." Hemione sweetens her tea and stirs it absently. "He was invited to take over as Chief Warlock and did. It's only when Ariana's husband Bertie Croaker dies that he comes to the school and that was just over twenty years ago. The book didn't say why but given your news from last night, she must have just had her son. Presumably Dumbledore wanted to be close to support her."

Harry nods. "That makes sense."

"He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher until Headmaster Dippet retired the year after Professor Dumbledore took up the post, and then he was chosen as the Headmaster." Hermione sips her tea and frowns. "There was only a short paragraph on his time since becoming Headmaster and mostly to do with his updating the curriculum."

Harry snags the last triangle of toast and chews on it thoughtfully. "If he wasn't here during Riddle's school years…"

Hermione shakes her head. "It's more than that; Riddle would never have ended up in a muggle orphanage. The Ministry would have retrieved him only hours after he was born." She sighs. "There was nothing in the book about what happens to orphaned children. I'll need to borrow something which goes into more detail on the Muggle Act of 1895."

"Rather you than me." Harry says, washing down the cold toast with a gulp of his coffee.

"I did do some cross-referencing with their A History of Hogwarts." Hermione says. "Riddle's history is not particularly different in what's recorded; Slytherin, Head Boy. He won an award for Potions three years running. His alumnus entry notes that he was embarking on a traditional world tour. It was last updated the year after his graduation."

In their world, Riddle had worked for a while in the UK before disappearing abroad and re-emerging as Voldemort.

"What about Hagrid?" asks Harry, because Hagrid's history as the groundskeeper had been tied to Riddle opening the Chamber of Secrets in their world.

Hermione looks pleased with him as though he's got the answer to a question she was posing correct. "Hagrid attended Hogwarts at the same time as Riddle but he was suspended at the end of his third year for keeping a dangerous creature in the castle. He had to repeat his third year as he wasn't allowed to sit the end of year exams. He was hired on as an assistant to the Care of Magical Creatures Professor at the end of his schooling, and took over as the Professor himself last year."

Harry frowns. "The Chamber of Secrets?"

"It was opened by the looks of things because Myrtle still died in the bathroom." Hermione confirms. "But A History of Hogwarts had her death down as a suicide."

"You think Riddle covered up the evidence to distort the reason for her death." Harry notes.

Hermione raises her tea-cup. "I do." She moves to a different position, leaning over the table intently. "What about your book?"

"I'm on chapter five." Harry says. "So far it's covered how Merlin enacted the veil of secrecy on his death to keep wizarding space safe, the establishment of the Wizengamot and the early days, the founding of Hogwarts, and the impact of the establishment of the Church of England and the Catholic puritan inquisition."

Hermione's eyes are wide with interest. "That sounds fascinating. All our history books went on about were the Goblin wars."

"You can read it after me." Harry offers generously.

Hermione throws her napkin at him and grins. "OK, so we have some of the lay of the land…"

There's a knock on the door which interrupts her.

They glance at each other, each of them wary, but Harry turns back to the door and calls for whoever's on the other side to enter.

It's McGonagall.

"Professor, this is Hermione." Harry says, scrambling to his feet.

Hermione stands up much more graciously and offers her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Professor McGonagall."

"Likewise." McGonagall says briskly. "You're looking much better."

"I feel better." Hermione admits.

McGonagall nods and turns to Harry. "You're maintaining the lack of surnames, I see. Is there any particular reason?"

"We've established there is a substantial timeline difference between our two worlds." Hermione replies before Harry can answer. "It's seems prudent. However, we're aware that the tradition at Hogwarts is not to use first names, so if some formality is required, perhaps we can use a pseudonym?"

"A good compromise." McGonagall says, approvingly. "What may we call you?"

"Harry will be Harry Smith and I'll be Hermione Jones." Hermione answers.

Harry catches Hermione's eyes and raises an eyebrow because – really? Smith and Jones?

"It's classic." Hermione says.

"If you'd like to follow me, Mister Smith, Miss Jones, the Headmaster is expecting you." There's an odd note to her voice but when Harry looks she seems impassive.

Harry and Hermione exchange another look but it's one of reassurance and agreement. They do need to talk to Dumbledore if they're going to find their way home.

When Hermione grabs her handbag and reaches for him as they follow McGonagall from their room, Harry doesn't think twice about sliding his hand into hers and holding on.


	7. A Ball of Spells

McGonagall leads them out and down the corridor away from the infirmary. She cuts through another corridor and down a set of stairs which weirdly brings them out into the corridor for the Headmaster's study.

Which it shouldn't if the castle complied with any kind of logic.

Harry inwardly sighs and puts it down to the castle's quirks.

"Professor McGonagall for the Headmaster." She says to the gargoyle.

The staircase begins to move.

Harry blinks at the lack of a password but he assumes if Dumbledore hadn't adopted his grandfather persona, he also hasn't got a famed love of muggle sweets to use as his password bible.

They walk up the stairs and McGonagall raps three short times on the door before entering.

"May I present, Mister Harry _Smith_ , and _Miss_ Hermione Jones." McGonagall says dryly.

Dumbledore looks up from behind his large desk and nods at McGonagall. "Thank you, Minerva."

Harry barely acknowledges McGonagall leaving, too swept up in the differences between the offices. His Dumbledore's office had been a veritable definition of the word 'cluttered' – knick-knacks, books, odds and sods of different things crammed into the bookshelves and on display tables. Here there is no clutter; the bookshelves are packed with books but there is an order and his desk is clear. Harry's eyes land on the sleeping phoenix on the stand by the window and his breath catches painfully; Fawkes.

Dumbledore gets up and walks around the desk to usher them into a sitting area near the window. "Tea?"

Hermione accepts before Harry can answer. They sit down on the small two-seater sofa which is angled to the right of the window, Dumbledore taking a comfortable chair opposite them. An elf pops in with the refreshments and Harry accepts a cup of tea he has no intentions of drinking.

"Ariana tells me you are both fully recovered from the trip." Dumbledore begins. "She also tells me you have some additional treatment to take due to a pre-existing medical condition?" His gaze is directed at Harry.

"Yes," Harry answers, "ideally we'd stay until the treatment was complete."

"But if we can get home and it's something we can learn, we can do that and treat Harry there." Hermione adds.

Dumbledore nods slowly. "Sensible." He takes a sip of tea and sets the cup aside to steeple his fingers together. "Jopy tells me Kitsy gave you history books yesterday?"

"Yes, we thought it prudent to understand some of the differences between our worlds." Hermione says. "Although the year is the same, it's clear we're on different temporal paths. The events you are currently experiencing happened approximately twenty years in our past."

Dumbledore looks surprised. "I see."

Hermine lifts and drops a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "We can't be certain events would play out exactly here as in our world as there are clear differences in our history, but we're wary of revealing too much of our world in case we unduly influence yours."

Dumbledore regards her seriously for a long moment before he concedes with a small incline of his head. "Harry described you as the brightest witch of your age. I see he was being truthful and not just expressing a boastful opinion as your friend."

Hermione blushes.

"Have you determined the diverging factor?" asks Dumbledore, fingers stroking his short beard.

"With what we've learned, we believe a key factor is the creation of the treatment Harry requires." Hermione replies bluntly.

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. "Fascinating." He takes another sip of his tea. "Have you then considered whether Harry's need played a part in the eventual destination?"

Harry is taken aback by the question and Hermione immediately shakes her head.

"Harry had no direct contact with the crystal ball which we believed triggered the tunnel between our worlds." Hermione says crisply. "We've determined that it either triggered accidentally, or because it determined I did not have the genealogy to hold the ball, or because it was tied to me specifically."

Dumbledore's eyes stay on Hermione. "The ball was a gift?"

"Yes, a birthday present from a friend's mother."

Harry puts down the tea. He hasn't touched it.

"It is unusual for crystal balls to be given outside the family." Dumbledore notes. "You must have been very close for the gift to have been considered at all."

Hermione pushes her back behind her ear and nods. "Harry and I were best friends with one of her sons. I dated him for a short period and Harry once dated her daughter. We were considered extended family. Our friend explained that his mother's crystal ball would go to her daughter, of course, but that she had gifted me one of the spare balls in the attic; until his sister, the family had produced all sons for generations. The ball in question was his paternal grandmother's."

"May I see the ball?" asks Dumbledore.

Hermione levitates the Tupperware box out of her handbag and carefully unseals it. She levitates the ball onto the coffee table.

Dumbledore retrieves a pair of glasses from the inner pocket of the robe and examines the ball intently without touching it. "There is fog in the glass."

"Yes, another of our friends noticed it when I unwrapped the gift. She suggested a spiritual cleanse." Hermione informs him.

Dumbledore looks up at her. "May I examine it with my wand?"

Hermione nods but her hand seeks Harry's and he holds it while Dumbledore unholsters his wand. Harry watches carefully as Dumbledore gets up and casts a containment area in the centre of the office.

Hermione and Harry follow him from the sitting area as Dumbledore levitates the ball into the containment area and only then begins to cast his magical scans.

"There are two spells attached to the glass." Dumbledore murmurs. He flicks his wand and one of them snaps like a hologram to spin above the ball in glowing orange figures.

Hermione breathes in sharply.

Harry cocks his head. He's read some of Hermione's arithmancy books so he knows he's looking at the spell's formula. He digs through his meagre knowledge and starts to interpret the figures.

"It's tied to Hermione specifically." Harry notes out loud.

"Yes, but this is a harmless spell in and of itself." Dumbledore says in a lecturing tone. "Here: the intent is to show a vision of a specific boy when the ball is activated at midnight."

"So M…our friend's mother…" Harry begins.

"Molly Weasley spelled the ball to show a specific individual on the night of Hermione's birthday." Dumbledore nods.

Hermione sighs. "I told you." She mutters to Harry who is frowning at Dumbledore being able to identify the caster.

"It wasn't an usual practice for mothers to do so when they wanted to determine or influence a certain relationship." Dumbledore lectures almost absently. "But suffice to say, this is not the spell which caused the interdimensional travel."

He flicks his wand and it disappears. A second flick and another spell begins to unravel its formula in the air above the crystal ball. There's lines and lines of it reaching from the high ceiling back to the ball.

"This, I fear, may take us sometime to decipher." Dumbledore says, his eyes looking up to the top of the formula. He makes a motion and parchment flies from his desk; a second later a quill is transferring the formula onto the parchment.

"At least we know it's a spell." Hermione says to Harry. "We should be able to decipher it eventually."

Harry nods. "How long do you think…"

"I'm not sure, Harry," Hermione admits, "this looks like a complicated and highly arithmanthic spell. It could take us years to completely understand it."

"Unfortunately, Hermione is entirely correct." Dumbledore turns towards them, finally tearing his eyes away from the glowing formula. "It will still take time to understand the formula and to change it to return you from whence you came."

Harry pushes a hand through his hair. "Right."

"Let us sit and discuss your options." Dumbledore ushers them back to the sitting area.

Harry picks up his tea and gulps down the semi-cold liquid. Hermione is sat closely pressed up against him, her touch keeping him grounded.

"Firstly, we need to deal with practicalities; there is the matter of your arrival here and lack of credentials." Dumbledore says. "I believe we will need to inform the Ministry and have official papers – birth certificates, qualifications, and so on – created for you."

"That seems sensible." Hermione replies.

Harry's less enthused but he recognises that official documentation is probably a good idea.

"Associated with the issue of identification is your remarkable similarity, Harry, to a prominent family line." Dumbledore says. "Both Professor McGonagall and I noted your resemblance on the day of your arrival; it cannot be denied. It wouldn't surprise me if Charlus Potter as the current Lord isn't already feeling some kind of impact to his family magic."

Harry stiffens and Hermione tenses beside him.

"Family magic?" Harry latches onto the last part.

"Perhaps it works differently in your world." Dumbledore allows. "Here each family is connected not just through their genealogy but also through their magic. It allows the head of the family to protect them and provides him or her with a way of knowing if there is a problem." He smiles somewhat sadly. "Unfortunately, it is considered old-fashioned to follow some of the rites these days but the family magic is still very much a vital part of our community." He regards them intently. "I assume you have no equivalent in your world?"

Harry shakes his head. "There's…something. Molly keeps a clock which keeps track of each family member." He frowns. "There's a tapestry of one family line. I'm…the head of that family too because my godfather entailed the position to me on his death."

He tries not to think about Teddy. He hasn't seen the little boy since the day before his ruling. With Teddy's ever-changing face and hair he can't visit in the muggle world but even if he could, Andromeda had asked Harry not to visit in the magical world because of the risk his magic posed to the little boy. Harry sends letters and gifts, but he knows nothing compensates for the lack of a physical presence. If he receives the treatment…maybe he can see Teddy again.

"Possibly this is the difference at the root of the divergence." Hermione says. "If the magical link within a family line is strong, it might have led to someone surviving when they didn't in our world. One outcome might be that the treatment Harry needs exists here, but there may be others too."

"I agree." Dumbledore says, but his eyes return to Harry. "If you are the head of two magical lines in your world, it is entirely possible that both families have felt your arrival in this world." His gaze moves to Hermione. "I assume that as you were gifted a crystal ball, your own mother was not magical?"

"First generation." Hermione says. "My parents were both muggles. I'm referred to as muggleborn in our world. I understand that term has fallen out of use here."

"It has." Dumbledore says without expanding on it. "Luckily it does mean we don't have a third family line to consider."

Harry sighs and gives in to the inevitable to ask for Dumbledore's advice. He knows he's only resisting because his Dumbledore had been about manipulation. "What do you suggest?"

"I would suggest we invite both heads here this evening and inform them of what has occurred. They may be prepared to assist with the Ministry which would be most useful." Dumbledore advises. "I'm also sure they may offer you shelter and sanctuary; family magic is almost a sacred duty here." He passes a hand over his tea and it begins to steam again. "I don't believe it would be wise to accept their offers."

"Why not?" asks Harry.

Dumbledore nods as though he had expected the challenge. "There are things to consider."

"Such as?" asks Harry bluntly, ignoring Hermione's chiding look at his tone.

"The matter of your knowledge and your safety." Dumbledore replies, his eyes meeting Harry's. "You are correct to be cautious about revealing your world and its history; your place within it. Your knowledge may be used to influence our future in some way. This world is on a precipice. There are difficult times ahead and your knowledge may help or hinder our approach to dealing with what is to come."

"So you'd prefer that even though we're telling the heads of Harry's family lines about our arrival that we don't go with them and put ourselves at potential risk where our knowledge would be used to subvert or influence events here." Hermione replies.

"Precisely." Dumbledore says. "A second consideration is the work to unravel the spell. I would like to make myself available to you, but I have duties and responsibilities to the school which must take precedence the majority of the time." He holds up his hand when Hermione goes to speak. "I am sure you could on your own do the work, but it is a lot of work and even if you were to take the lead on unravelling this, you may need help at times." He waves to the containment field where the parchment is still copying the spell.

Hermione concedes with a tilt of her head.

Dumbledore looks at them both. "Finally, whatever resources you may have brought with you, I doubt they are infinite. Having food, lodging, and an income would no doubt be beneficial."

Harry doesn't correct Dumbledore's impression that their resources are minimal. "Income?"

"I would offer you positions on the staff." Dumbledore says. "As it happens our Arithmancy tutor informed me just before Christmas break that she is with child. She wishes to leave as soon as a replacement could be found." His eyes land on Hermione. "Am I correct in assuming you have the necessary NEWT qualification to teach the class?"

"Yes." Hermione says. "But what about Harry?"

"Our flying instructor had an accident before the school year began which unfortunately meant he was unable to take up the position." Dumbledore says. "The rest of the staff have been covering and will be frankly relieved if the position is filled when they return from the break. I assume from the broom which accompanied your arrival that such a position would be appropriate for you?"

Harry nods. He knows he can teach because of his time with Dumbledore's Army. He loves flying and Quidditch so neither is an issue for him.

Dumbledore clears his throat. "Your terms and conditions would be the same as any other Professor. No deliberate harm to the children or to other members of staff. A nominal value is deducted from your salary for food and lodging but you would be provided with both. Medical treatment is free to staff members."

Harry exchanges a quick glance with Hermione. It's more than they expected and it covers their want to pay rent so…it's a good deal. He knows Dumbledore has offered it to them to retain some control over them – he'd done the same with Trelawney in their world – but both Hermione and Harry are familiar with Hogwarts and it suits them to stay.

He turns back to Dumbledore. "We accept."

"Excellent." Dumbledore says. He sobers and gives a small cough. "There is a small matter we must discuss in respect of these practicalities and your living quarters."

Harry waits patiently for Dumbledore to expand but the Professor simply regards them evenly.

"We're best friends, but we're not romantically involved, Professor." Hermione replies.

Harry's head snaps around to look at her; she's gazing forward, her eyes on Dumbledore but there is a hint of red in her cheeks. That wasn't what Dumbledore was implying…was it? He looks back at Dumbledore and finds him nodding sagely.

_What?_

"Ideally, I would prefer to be accommodated close to Harry." Hermione continues. "Our circumstances…I think we would both be happier to be situated close to one another."

Harry nods possibly a tad too enthusiastically. "Yes." He manages to say.

Dumbledore hums and contemplates them for a long moment. "Unfortunately, we've already bent the norms in allowing you to recover together in a private room. My sister may have made some erroneous assumptions about the nature of your relationship."

Hermione looks taken aback but she rallies quicker than Harry. "So, our being roomed together…"

"Is allowed because you were considered to be very much attached; without the benefit of surnames it was assumed you were married with the pearl necklace your wedding jewellery as it was imbued with a number of protections a husband typically makes." Dumbledore smiles. "Ariana is quite a romantic soul."

"You don't have rings?" asks Harry.

"Rings?" repeats Dumbledore, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.

"In our world, a married couple exchange rings at their wedding." Harry vaguely points to his naked ring finger. "It's how we know they're married."

"How lovely!" Dumbledore exclaims. "Our tradition is the giving of jewellery, typically a bracelet or necklace for the wife, often something more practical for the man. Ariana assumed your glasses as they carry similar protection spells to the necklace."

Harry risks a glance at Hermione and finds her still staring ahead but her cheeks are flushed.

Harry sighs. "So, Ariana assumed we were married and housed us together. I assume unmarried men and women sleeping under the same roof is not allowed?"

"It is not done," Dumbledore says, "there is a trend in the muggle world to a more relaxed set of mores but on this the wizarding world will not follow. Magic and intimacy are inevitably intertwined here, especially for witches."

Harry looks at Hermione. Her chin is set and he can almost see the vein in her forehead throbbing.

"I assume on your world, there is a difference?" asks Dumbledore.

"It is considered acceptable to live together prior to marriage these days." Harry jumps in before Hermione can get on her soapbox. "It's accepted that a woman may have as many sexual partners as a man." Not that he knows anything about that. He works to keep the flush from colouring his cheeks and figures he's failed given the heat.

"Ah." Dumbledore looks chagrined.

Harry risks another look at Hermione but she seems to be contemplating setting Dumbledore on fire for being the messenger.

"So," Harry says brightly, "how do we fix this?"

"Well, you have two options." Dumbledore replies in the same bright tone. "We either inform the ladies who know of your rooming together of the truth. Ariana, Minerva and Poppy will accept there are differences as they know of the circumstances of your arrival here."

Harry figures Minerva had already worked it out when Hermione gave them different surnames. McGonagall wasn't stupid in either reality.

"Or?" prompts Harry when Dumbledore hesitates over speaking the second option.

"Or we allow the assumption to remain." Dumbledore says. "This would be advantageous to both of you. Miss Granger, Hermione…"

Right, Dumbledore had read Hermione's real name in the stupid vision spell Molly had done.

"…would receive the protection of the family lines and you would be housed together as a married couple."

"There are separate living quarters for single professors?" asks Hermione tersely.

Dumbledore gives a nod.

Harry figures the quarters are probably on opposite sides of the castle.

He nudges Hermione. "What do you think?"

She takes a deep breath. "Won't the family magic know I'm not married to Harry?"

Dumbledore hums thoughtfully. "That could be explained as differences in our worlds. They may wish for you to take part in the usual rite which adds a spouse to the family line."

Hermione frowns.

"Hermione?" Harry says gently.

Hermione sighs and turns to face him. She looks apologetic and nervous. "I think we should probably keep up the pretence. It gives us a reason for knowing each other already; we'd be able to stay together and…"

He takes hold of her hand and turns to Dumbledore. "We'll continue with the assumption."

Dumbledore all but claps his hands. "Splendid. I'll send word when Lord Potter and…which other family head should I invite?"

"Lord Black." Harry replies.

Dumbledore's eyes widen. "Well." He says. "This will certainly be an interesting meeting."

He shoos them out of his office in a pleasant but firm way and they end up in the corridor staring at each other in shared shock.

"Let's get back to the room." Hermione says. "I want to ask Kitsy to bring us some books on social norms, family magic and traditions."

Harry nods. They head back the way they came and they're almost at their room when Ariana appears, bustling down the corridor.

"Ah, Harry," Ariana says brightly, "I'd like to move up your treatment if that's alright?"

Harry pushes his glasses up his nose and nods.

"Do you want me to come with you?" asks Hermione.

Harry shakes his head. "Best get started on that reading."

Hermione looks for a moment as though she's going to argue but she finally nods and leaves him in the corridor with Ariana.

Ariana ushers him back into a nearby treatment room.

Harry takes a seat on the bed at her urging.

"I'll just retrieve your potion and be right back." Ariana promises.

Harry nods and in the next instant, he's left alone with the door shut and the sound of the ticking clock loud in the empty space.

"DAMN IT, MOONY!"

The shout by James Potter has Harry tense and looking for how he'd heard it. There's a vent on the wall high up. He figures maybe it came from there and is proven right when a second shout echoes through.

"YOU SLEPT WITH BLACK?!"

What?!

Harry's eyebrows shoot up

"NO!" Remus shouts back. "I SLEPT WITH NARCISSA!"

There's a telling silence and Harry wonders if James is as gobsmacked as he is at that news. Of course, in Harry's mind Remus and Tonks are still very much a couple.

"We met in the alley for a date but we got ambushed by that insane cow, Bellatrix." Remus continues, his voice still loud enough to carry over to Harry. "She started to…Narcissa was in a bad way and Black was just suddenly…there."

"He saved you." James states.

"Yes." Remus agrees. "He took down his cousin and had her portkeyed somewhere, took Narcissa away to be treated, and then he came back to take me and…"

"I turned up and thought Black had attacked you." James supplies. "Moony!"

"I couldn't tell you." Remus says, his voice lowering enough that Harry has to strain to hear it. "Narcissa was…she wanted to keep us secret. I mean, it wasn't a grand love affair, Prongs. It was just a bit of fun, rebelliousness on her part, but her parents would have gone mental at the idea of her being with a werewolf and…she'd just been arranged by her parents to Lucius Malfoy. The scandal would have ruined her."

"You should still have told me the truth!" James' volume rises again. "Merlin, Moony, you let us plot revenge pranks on him for the final two years we were at Hogwarts! You've let me badmouth him because I thought he was guilty of attacking you for years!"

"Cissy told me that Sirius went along with it for her sake." Remus says. "It was her decision."

"Did you ever try to change it, Remus?" James asks in a hard tone. "Did you ever talk to Black himself and offer to at least bring your friends into the loop so we would at least stop thinking the worst of him and started to treat him better?"

If Remus replies, Harry can't hear it.

"My belief that Black attacked you, Remus, has coloured my behaviour towards him; it caused me to advise my father to refuse a rapprochement between our families just last year." James continues. "Do you have any idea of the dishonour I've incurred, my family has incurred, because you kept this quiet?"

"James," Remus offers, his tone thick and heavy, "he knows the truth of it. He knows and has made no move to tell you. This isn't all on you."

"He's protecting his cousin, Remus." James responds. "He won't say anything because his duty to family comes first. Even if he's wanted to throw it in my face a million times, if he'd actually told me, it would have been a betrayal in the eyes of his family magic. I was someone who he knew, Remus, knew wouldn't have believed him and who would have used it against him in an effort to prove just how awful he was. That's on me because I've never given an inch where Black is concerned."

"James…"

"But allowing me to hold that position knowing I did so because of what I believed he had done to you…if you had told me, I could have approached him, apologised and thanked him for saving _my_ brother. _I could have approached him._ "

There's silence.

A second later, Ariana is bustling back in and Harry's too caught up in his own treatment to think about the drama of this world's Marauders.


	8. A Romantic History

Harry wakes slowly.

Noise filters in first. The sound of a page being turned in a book, the dry brush of paper against a hand.

The feel of the bed is next; the familiar feel of Hogwarts' sheets against his skin; the comforting weight of a blanket.

The faint smell of jasmine perfume identifies Hermione before he opens his eyes.

He blinks back the usual blur and reaches for his glasses. They slide into his hand and he puts them on before he shifts and takes in the setting sun; the orange glow lighting up half the room.

"Water?" asks Hermione, already moving to pour him some.

There's a lingering cherry taste in his mouth and his tongue feels thick. He sips the water gratefully.

"Thank you." Harry grimaces at the rough tone of his voice, the rasp in his throat.

Hermione sits back down beside the bed and retrieves her book. "You can rest up for a while longer. Professor Dumbledore has arranged for us to eat in his quarters with Lord Black and Lord Potter."

"Right." Harry nudges his glasses up so he can rub his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" asks Hermione almost tentatively.

Harry drags a hand through his hair and considers it. His magic feels calmer; it doesn't crackle under his skin anymore. He can feel it still but rather than waves which battered against the inside of his skin, it feels more like the vibrant ripple of a running stream.

"Good," Harry admits out loud.

Hermione breathes in sharply, relief flooding her face and loosening the tension he hadn't realised she had.

"The books say an average treatment for an adult male is six treatments," Hermione tells him, "It may take longer if the wizard has above average power."

Harry nods. Ariana had explained as much to him. He had been taken aback by her estimate that he would take twelve treatments. He didn't think his magic was _that_ powerful. He shook his head as though to clear it.

"Obviously you'll take more than the six treatments," Hermione continues, "according to the book, the first treatment is the only one which causes you to sleep. All the others should just be taking the potion."

Harry blinks at her and he realises she's read up because she's worried. "Healer Dumbledore explained it all."

"She didn't explain anything to me." Hermione's fingers clench white against the book. "You were really out of it, Harry."

Harry reaches for her hand and he's thankful she reaches back. "I'm OK."

"I know," Hermione admits, "and I know Healer Dumbledore doesn't mean you any harm, it's just…"

"You've been watching my back since we were eleven, Hermione," Harry points out dryly. "I know you've got my back here too."

Hermione blushes but her fingers remain tight on his. "Me too," she says. "I know you have my back, I mean." Her eyes take on a mischievous glint. "Although for the record I was twelve."

"You looked out for me on the train," Harry retorts cheerily, "I distinctly remember being told to change."

Hermione snorts in response.

Harry simply grins back at her; she gives in and smiles back at him.

Hermione squeezes his hand and lets go of him. She sets her book aside and nervously brushes the front of her top. "Talking of looking out for each other…we should talk about…" she blushes again, "about the whole being married thing."

"Right." His mouth is dry again and he reaches for the water. He sips some and places the glass back on the bedside cabinet.

Hermione fidgets with the edge of her sweater. "I just want…that is…"

Harry's eyebrows rise because he doesn't think he's ever seen her so tongue-tied.

Hermione suddenly seems to clue in too because she blows out a frustrated breath, gets up and throws up her hands. "This is stupid," she says as she paces to the end of the bed and back again. "We're adults. We should be able to have an adult conversation."

Harry just nods because he knows better than to poke her when she's in full steam.

Hermione sits down again. "Right." She sweeps a stray strand of hair back behind an ear and determinedly makes eye-contact with him. "This world has a completely different view of sex, magic and intimacy." She pushes at her hair again even though it's fine. "Professor McGonagall came to see me while you were asleep."

Harry's eyes widen in alarm.

"Don't worry, she was fine," Hermione says quickly. "Professor Dumbledore apparently called her into his office to tell her we were married, but she'd worked out we weren't…"

Harry isn't too surprised at that.

"…because she pointed out that I wouldn't have received a crystal ball on my twenty-first if I wasn't unmarried," Hermione continues. "Anyway, she came up with a way to explain that away – apparently crystal balls are a popular gift for newly-wed women here, something about showing them how many babies they'll have," she wrinkles her nose, "she convinced the Headmaster to let her talk to me about it all." She points at the stack of books on the table on the other side of the room. "She also brought me some books."

"So…"

"So, it's not a sexism thing," Hermione explains a touch tersely. "Not all of it anyway." She makes an angry wave. "I mean, there's still a double standard where men are expected to be men and come to the marriage bed with experience, but women are meant to be virginal and untouched."

Hermione sounds disgusted with that and Harry hums his agreement in support.

She sighs. "The muggle world here is pretty much on target for the same historical period in our world, unmarried partners are now accepted there and women are becoming liberated with the introduction of the pill, but unfortunately as Professor McGonagall explained it to me, the magical world does have a good reason not to follow the same path."

She rubs her forehead and Harry waits patiently for her to continue.

"This family magic thing…" she sits forward, her eyes glowing with intelligence and passion, "all magic here is interconnected. They value the magic as a gift. The family lines are very strict about who is a part of their line because the addition of someone else's magic has an impact."

"Sounds a little like the whole pureblood nonsense," Harry mutters.

"Actually, new magic is considered a boon," Hermione says. "There was a period of history where wizards would steal muggleborn to raise in their own family lines."

"I must not have got to that part of the book yet," Harry says.

"It was outlawed by the Wizengamot in the early eighteen-hundreds," Hermione comments. "Apparently there was a plot to kidnap the daughter of the King and they realised they were seriously putting their world at risk."

Harry scratches his scar absently. It looks like the family magic thing had altered a lot of history.

"Anyway," Hermione says, pulling them back on topic, "Professor McGonagall explained that magic is considered to be a gift of the mother. Women are revered which unfortunately leads to a lot of overprotectiveness on the part of the men." She crosses her arms tightly over her chest. "Decades of overprotectiveness later and…it's still the tradition that women don't risk giving their magic away by being intimate with a lot of men."

"So not sexism?" repeats Harry.

Hermione sniffs. "Apart from the double standard, mostly no. Women have the vote and are accepted into the workplace here long before our world. They hold some really key positions. Griselda Marchbanks is actually Chief Witch; Professor Dumbledore gave up the position when he became a teacher here. Women here…we're respected," She sighs heavily. "But the whole sex before marriage thing? That's considered to be dishonouring their family magic."

Which really put into context how much of a scandal the whole Narcissa and Remus thing would have been if it had been made public.

Harry sighs and banishes the thoughts of the discussion he'd heard to the back of his mind.

"So…"

"So, Professor McGonagall thinks we've made the right decision," Hermione says. "To, you know…"

"Stay together?" Harry supplies.

Hermione bites her lip but she nods. "That's probably a good way to put it."

Harry shrugs. "I don't mind if you don't." There's an odd feeling in his chest; a twinge of…something. Possibly an after-effect of his treatment.

"I don't mind," Hermione says quickly, another blush brightening her face for a moment.

She shakes that off though and Harry recognises the look on her face as the 'we need to get serious' now. She'd worn it just before reeling off her plan for them to go to university.

"We need a backstory," Hermione says. "How we met, first date, kisses," she blushes again, "everything."

He suspects she's worked it out while he was asleep. "Okay."

Hermione retrieves her notebook and flips to a section with a frown. "The Professor suggested we keep to the facts as much as possible."

"Sounds sensible," Harry says.

"I think we should leave our history the same until the moment we went back to Hogwarts after the war," Hermione looks down at her notebook. "That would only leave us having to rewrite what happened after the war."

"If only we could," Harry jokes.

She offers a brief sad smile before returning to her notebook. "I don't think we should tell them about the official exile."

Harry nods. They have no idea how this world would respond to that.

"I think we just say it became apparent your magic had been traumatised by the war and they'd recommended you return to the muggle world and live as much as possible without magic." Hermione taps her finger against her lips.

"Makes sense." Harry comments. That had been the advice. Even if it had come in the form of a trial and a banishment ruling.

"Of course, as your best friend, and as a muggleborn, I'm determined to go with you," Hermione says. "I think we just say…" she blushes again, "we say we got close and…we started to see each other as something more," She looks over at him. "What do you think?"

Harry thinks he can imagine it all too easily. But Hermione has never looked at him the way she'd looked at Ron. And Harry had never let himself go there because of Ron.

"I think that's believable," Harry says when he realises Hermione is waiting impatiently for him to reply.

"Good," Hermione says, "that leaves us with the details. I thought we could say…"

"What about my nineteenth birthday?" Harry interrupts, startling Hermione into looking at him again.

"Huh?"

"My nineteenth birthday," Harry says, "we went for the weekend to Brighton, remember? Because you were appalled I hadn't really been to the seaside before except for Shell Cottage."

Hermione smiles, affection beaming from her eyes. "You were like a little kid."

"And at the end of the day, we went for that walk, picked up some fish and chips and ate them out of the wrapping down by the beach," Harry reminds her.

Hermione nods, still smiling. "It was a lovely day."

"So, what if we had our first kiss then?" asks Harry.

Hermione's eyes widen a touch before her smile turns into a grin. "That's perfect." She takes a quill out of her handbag and scribbles something out on her notebook. "It's much better than what I came up with." She looks up at him with an eyebrow raised in challenge. "What next then?"

"We date," Harry continues confidently, ignoring the heat on his own cheeks. "We have our coffee dates, go to the cinema, have dinner, meet up with friends…" he shrugs, "what we usually do."

Except they've done all of that as friends.

Hermione is nodding though and writing in her notebook. "Good. That's good. We don't even have to make up anything." Her eyes suddenly gleam with amusement as she looks over at him again. "How did you propose?"

Harry almost swallows his tongue. "Propose?"

"Yes, propose," Hermione reiterates. She smiles primly, her eyes alive with mischief. It's a good look on her.

Harry rolls his eyes at her. "Hermione…"

"Oh, come on!" Hermione says, gesturing at him. "You did really well with the getting together." She looks at him as though to say 'get on with it.'

Harry swings his legs around and sits on the edge of the bed facing her, thinking hard about what he should say.

"You remember the last night of Uni in June?" Harry says quietly.

Hermione smiles at him affectionately. "Oh God! That truly awful party!"

Harry nods. It really had been truly awful between the loud music and drunk students. Neither he nor Hermione had been comfortable. They'd ended up back at her flat. They'd drank cheap cider; had devoured a giant pizza together. They'd watched the telly, moaned over the nonsense of soap operas, and finally had clambered out onto the roof through the skylight.

Harry drags his mind back to the present. "We're up on the roof and…and I propose just after midnight."

"And I accept," Hermione says softly.

They simply gaze at each other for a long moment.

Harry clears his throat. "We're engaged so I guess the wedding's next?"

Hermione nods. She looks down at her notebook. "I have that it was a small wedding at my family church. Just friends and…" her eyes go shiny for a moment before she collects herself, "my parents were there."

"Of course they were," Harry says consolingly.

She sniffs and shakes her head. "It's stupid," she murmurs. "They hate me."

Harry slides off the bed and reaches for her. He pulls her out of the chair and into a hug. "It's their loss, Hermione. You're brilliant."

Hermione gives a muffled laugh but she hugs him back tightly.

Eventually she steps back and swipes at her eyes.

Harry hands her a handkerchief and rests back on the bed. She does the same and blows her nose noisily.

"We honeymoon in Brighton and I turn twenty." Harry nudges her shoulder gently.

Hermione looks at him gratefully. "That sounds good. We marry the day before your birthday; that's easy to remember." She takes a deep breath. "So, we're happily married for all of a month and a half and then…"

"Crystal ball and whammy into another universe."

Hermione breathes in. "Perfect."

Harry's pleased too. It's a good solid story. His heart twinges as though it skips a beat. He rubs at his chest and grimaces as he finally takes in how sweaty he feels under his clothes.

"I'm going to grab a shower," he says.

Hermione nods. "Good idea," she motions at the door, "I'll take one too. We should probably dress for dinner."

Harry sighs but she's right. He heads out and spends a glorious fifteen minutes under the hot spray in the shower. He puts on his glasses as he dries off. He shaves and looks in the mirror, examining his face to see if he's missed anything.

"You look good, dearie," the mirror tells him brightly.

Harry smiles back at the mirror and turns to take off his necklace and open the chest. He searches through his belongings pulling out a decent pair of dark grey trousers. He teams it with a shirt Hermione had bought him when they'd had to go to a formal dinner at the university. It was good quality and a deep maroon colour. He fastened the cuffs with another Hermione present from the Christmas before; magical cufflinks with the Potter crest on one and the Black crest on another. He puts on a tie of dark grey, pulls on socks and shiny black leather dress shoes.

He's dressed except for…

He reaches into the chest and pulls out a dark wool grey wizarding robe in an open style. He shrugs it on and adjusts the fit. He straightens up and looks again in the mirror to deal with his hair.

The mirror tuts at him. "Bit of a mess that."

Harry can't deny it. His hair has always been a bit of a mess. He just hopes it looks like a fashionable mess.

He makes another trip into the chest and takes out the box with his ring. There had originally been two; one from his father and one from Sirius. When he'd put them both on they'd merged and the result is a gold band, an onyx setting and an entwined etching in gold and silver of a griffin and snake curled around each other with a ruby eye. He slides the ring onto the ring finger of his left hand where it would be if he was truly married.

He's about to close when the chest when he stops. He reaches inside and pulls out another small box. He sets it aside, shrinks the chest and reties his necklace, adjusting to hide it under his shirt. He picks up the box and heads back to the room.

Hermione isn't there but her handbag is missing and he assumes that she's getting ready. The sun has set and the night sky fills the window. Harry looks out for a moment before he closes the curtains and lights the magical lamp on the cabinet.

He sits in an armchair, putting the box to one side, and picks up his abandoned book. He's barely read a chapter when Hermione comes back in.

She looks beautiful.

She's wearing the dress which complements his shirt; a deep maroon knitted dress with a scoop neck and long sleeves which clings to her curves before flaring, falling in soft folds to her ankles. She has matching maroon high heels which look incredibly flimsy. She's also got a matching dark grey robe over the dress, left open. Her hair is swept up into a complicated braid up-do. She's wearing the pendant.

Hermione fidgets as she finishes closing the door, setting her handbag onto her bed and Harry realises she's probably waiting for him to say something.

"You look beautiful," Harry says sincerely.

Hermione smiles as she brushes a hand down the front of her dress. "Thank you." She waves at him. "You look good too."

"I should," Harry teases, "you bought me the outfit."

Hermione rolls her eyes and takes the armchair opposite. "We should probably talk a little about the etiquette here."

Harry doesn't bother to hide his wince.

"Professor McGonagall says there is a certain decorum expected." Hermione lectures briskly. "You'll need to bow your head when greeting a Lord or his heir. It is not expected for you to shake hands unless they offer."

Harry nods because he knows he's not getting out of hearing the whole spiel.

It takes another five minutes before Hermione winds down but Harry has paid attention. He knows how to interact with who they're meeting enough he hopes that he doesn't let Hermione down.

"Do you really think my…James Potter will be there?" asks Harry.

"Professor McGonagall certainly seemed to assume he would be," Hermione says. "It would be unusual for a Lord not to have their heir involved in such an important discussion."

Harry swallows hard.

It's been one thing to peek at this world's James Potter, it will be another thing to meet him.

Sirius.

The thought hits him like a thunderbolt. If Lord Potter bring James, it's likely that Lord Black will expect his own heir to attend and that's…not Sirius.

Sirius's father maybe.

Harry almost sighs with relief. He has no idea what he's going to do if he sees this world's Sirius. James Potter had been his father and Harry has talked with his ghost but his love for James is childish, rooted in the want of a small boy for his father. But, Sirius…

Sirius had been flesh and blood. He had loved Harry in the all too brief time they'd spent together and Harry feels again the rush of guilt and pain which always accompanies thinking about Sirius. Sirius had died fighting to save Harry, and Harry has never forgiven himself.

He starts as Hermione slides a hand over his and he catches it before she can withdraw.

"Sorry," he says.

"I know it's going to be hard on you," Hermione says. "Seeing them."

"They're not the same people," Harry says.

Hermione simply squeezes his hand.

They sit for another moment before Hermione brushes her thumb across his knuckles and gives a tiny tug.

"It's almost time; we should make our way to the Headmaster's office." Hermione rises but Harry keeps hold of her hand.

"Just a second."

Hermione stops and frowns at him quizzically. "Harry…"

Harry gets out of his chair and retrieves the box he'd put on the cabinet. He turns back to Hermione and smiles crookedly.

"I know this isn't our world and our story is just that a story, but…" Harry opens the box. "They don't wear rings but we do and I thought…I would like you to wear this."

Hermione gasps and one hand flies to touch her lips as she gazes at the ring he's revealed. It's the female equivalent of his own; gold band, black onyx and the Potter griffin curled around a silver snake. It's more delicate than his; the only difference to denote the smaller and more feminine hand this ring is meant to adorn.

Her eyes fly back up to him. "Harry, I can't," she says, her voice rough with emotion. "You should save that for when you find the girl you want to marry."

Harry catches hold of her hand and squeezes it. "Who deserves it more than you right now? You're my best friend. You've saved my life a dozen times and you've always had my back. I want you to have this. It'll give you the protection of my house and of my wand no matter what's said tonight."

Hermione breathes in tremulously. "Harry." She searches his gaze and she seems to find what she needs there because she gives a nod. "How can I say no, Harry? You're my best friend too and…" she takes another quick breath. "I accept. I'd be honoured to wear your ring and be a part of your house for as long as you want me there."

Harry lets go of her hand just enough to retrieve the ring and cast the box aside. She holds her hand out and he slides the ring onto her finger. Harry grins at Hermione and lifts her hand to drop a chaste kiss on the ring.

There's a rush of magic which rushes over both of them and leaves them breathless.

"Is that usual?" asks Hermione.

Harry shrugs. "I don't know." He's pretty certain Hermione has a stash of books somewhere in her handbag which she'll interrogate for an answer at some point.

Hermione smiles at Harry. "Come on. We'd better be going."

"After you, Lady Potter-Black."

Hermione gives a low chuckle and drops into a curtsey. "Thank you, Lord Potter-Black."

They're both laughing as they leave the room.


	9. Meeting the Families

Somewhere between their room and Dumbledore's office, Harry's nerves return threefold and he holds tightly to Hermione's hand as they make their way up the staircase.

Dumbledore calls for them to enter.

Harry exchanges a quick look with Hermione, takes a deep breath and opens the door.

They step through and Harry blinks with surprise at the almost empty room. Professor McGonagall sits in one chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. She gets to her feet as Harry closes the door. Harry keeps hold of Hermione's hand as they walk across the office.

Harry executes a small head bow to Dumbledore and McGonagall along with Hermione. "Headmaster, Professor."

"Well done, Lord Potter-Black." Dumbledore says. "I see your time today has been spent wisely."

McGonagall smiles, her eyes shrewd and knowing as she takes in their joined hands and nerves. "The Headmaster thought you may appreciate a friendly face."

"Yes, thank you, Professor." Harry says gratefully. She's not their McGonagall but she's helped them enormously.

"Please call me Minerva." McGonagall offers, adjusting the sleeves on an elegant green robe. "I understand we're to be colleagues."

"Thank you," Harry responds, "and please, it's Harry and Hermione."

"Excellent," Dumbledore declares, "and may I welcome you to use my given name Albus when we're not engaged in Hogwarts' business such as this evening."

Harry nods. "Thank you." His throat closes up before he can even attempt to get 'Albus' out.

Hermione echoes his thanks.

"I have already informed our guests of the reason for the meeting this evening. They are somewhat sceptical but accept that they have felt you in the family magic since your arrival. I believe they probably assumed a magical child had emerged in one of the squib lines."

Harry suppresses the urge to frown. He's not sure he likes the family magic keeping tabs on him in some way. Hermione leans into his space momentarily and he takes a deep breath. This isn't his world and isn't it a good thing for families if they know there's always someone keeping watch and making sure no harm comes to them?

Albus rises and taps a bookshelf to his left. It slides back and to the side revealing a corridor. "If you'd like to come through to my quarters; our guests are waiting for us in my parlour."

Minerva smiles sympathetically at them and leads the way. Harry and Hermione follow her. The corridor is narrow and has several doors which are all closed. Harry assumes they all lead either to parts of Dumbledore's – Albus' quarters or other parts of the school.

They're almost at the end of the corridor when Minerva finally stops in front of a door, raps sharply to give the occupants warning, and opens it. She steps inside and they follow her.

The room is a large circle, suggesting it is part of one of Hogwarts' many towers. It has large windows almost all the way round but they are covered by heavy damask curtains in a gold colour. The furniture is antique but of good quality; bookshelves fill the spaces under the windows, a portrait of a landscape takes up space above the mantelpiece. The fire below in the hearth is roaring. In front of it, there are three sofas in differing styles, with armchairs dotted between them which mismatch but in an eclectic way which suggests design was considered and not just ignored.

Two of the sofas are each occupied by a man and woman, and Harry's heart jumps and pounds as he realises James Potter sits in a chair near to one sofa, and Sirius sits in a chair near to another.

The guests rise, setting aside drinks, as they make their way into the room and Albus joins them, closing the door. He sweeps past Harry and Hermione to take control of the gathering.

"Thank you all for joining me." Albus says. "May I present visitors from another dimension: the Lord and Lady Potter-Black."

Harry bows his head as Hermione sinks into an elegant curtsey, both of them respectful of the company in front of them. He holds tightly to Hermione's hand.

"Harry, Hermione; please may I present the Earl and Countess of Gryffindor, and their son, Viscount Potter." Albus introduces the Potters first and Harry has no doubt that some complicated etiquette rules are in play.

There's enough family resemblance between Harry and the Earl that it's clear that their resemblance cannot be a fluke.

The Earl steps forward and offers his hand. "Please call me Charlus, and this is my wife, Dorea."

Harry shakes his hand firmly. "I'd be honoured. I'm Harry, and this is my…my wife, Hermione."

"You both look charming, my dear." Dorea says as he kisses her hand while Charlus does the same with Hermione.

"Thank you."

"Our son, James," Charlus gestures for James to step forward and he does, once again offering his hand.

"Pleased to meet you," James says politely but there is a healthy amount of suspicion in his eyes as they shake hands. Harry's heart pounds hard in his chest and he can barely breathe.

Albus clears his throat. "May I also present the Earl of Grimmauld, Baron Blackthorn and Lady Regina Black."

Harry feels slightly intimidated by the Earl's stern and aristocratic expression. He gets the impression that the Earl rarely gives anything away. It's a surprise when he's invited to call him Arcturus.

Harry braces himself again as Arcturus introduces his son and heir: Sirius.

He's nothing like the Sirius Harry knew. His clothing is neat and expensive; a high-necked long-sleeved black robe, tightly buttoned until the hips where it flares out providing freedom of movement and revealing black trousers and shiny black boots. His hair is tied back in a sleek bun and he has a trim beard. His grey eyes are cautious and wary as he shakes Harry's hand.

The differences are stark and give Harry room to breathe. It's so clearly not his Sirius.

It's Sirius who introduces his sister, Regina. Harry wonders if there is a Regulus at all as he kisses her slim hand.

"I thought it best to get business out of the way before we eat." Albus says, gesturing for them all to resume their seats. Harry and Hermione sit together on the remaining sofa and Harry is pleased when Minerva sits on the other side of Hermione.

Albus takes an armchair.

Another few minutes pass as refreshments are offered and the group settles.

"Perhaps, Harry, it may be wise to begin with a discussion of how you came into our world?" Albus suggests.

Harry nods, sliding his hand back into Hermione's. "We were with friends for Hermione's birthday in Hogsmeade. One of our friends had a present from his mother of a crystal ball. Both Hermione and I grew up in the muggle world so we were unaware of the tradition of seeking the number of children to be born. Hermione stored it in her handbag and we went home which is in the muggle world. On our way there, the ball began to glow and hum, there was a power surge and a…a whirlpool like portal opened in the middle of the road. Hermione was immediately pulled into it and I followed. We landed in the forest." He gestures vaguely to the outside of the school. "We were injured but when we realised where we were in relation to Hogwarts we were able to make our way here to request help. It was then we realised we were no longer in...in our world."

He only just resists saying Kansas. He takes a sip of his soda water.

"I've examined the crystal ball," Albus jumps in, "and there is a very tricky spell involved. It may take years for us to decipher and reverse it to enable Harry and Hermione to return home."

Charlus glances at Arcturus and receives a nod to reply. "We discussed the issue a little while you were retrieving Harry and Hermione. Clearly our family magic recognises you as kin. You're directly related to the Potter line?"

"In my world, I'm the last of the Potters." Harry says.

"May I ask why that is?" Charlus prompts. "Is it related to your comment in regards growing up in the muggle world and to the reason why you reside there?"

Harry takes another sip of his water to moisten his dry mouth. "Before I was born there was a series of magical wars. My family lost many in a war which coincided with the muggle Second World War in opposition to a dark wizard called Grindelwald."

He can see the flicker of reaction before Albus hides his surprise.

"The Albus Dumbledore of our world was able to defeat Grindelwald." Hermione picks up. "Unfortunately, there was a second magical war in our nineteen-seventies against a dark lord who was the heir of Slytherin Salazar which decimated many of the wizarding populace in Britain."

"He was defeated temporarily but not before he had killed the remaining members of the House of Potter except for myself and my godfather." Harry says bluntly. "My godfather was wrongly imprisoned in the fallout, my godmother was injured, and I was placed with my mother's muggle sister."

"Extraordinary," Charlus murmurs.

"It's horrifying." Dorea says.

"I agree, cousin," Arcturus adds. "I assume the same protections between our world and the muggles do not exist in yours?"

"They don't." Hermione replies. "We have a Statute of Secrecy but magical children are not approached until they are eleven."

"Even more horrifying." Dorea says. "Forgive the bluntness but were you also orphaned, Hermione?"

Hermione shakes her head. "I'm muggleborn although I believe you use the term first generation?"

Charlus turns his assessing gaze on Harry. "So as you say you were both raised within the muggle world. Is that why you live there now?"

Harry looks swiftly at Hermione and she gives him an encouraging smile.

"No, we live there because, well…" Harry sighs. "The dark lord who killed my parents returned during our school years. Our final year was interrupted by a full scale war." He taps his glass considering how much to say. "There was a prophecy between him and I. He believed it and came after me. I didn't get much say in it but my friends and I…we were able to defeat him."

" _You_ defeated him, Harry." Hermione jumps in.

"And I would have been dead ten times over it wasn't for you," Harry counters.

He looks around and realises that the gathering are all watching their interaction with varying expressions from indulged amusement to calculation.

"My magic was traumatised in the final battle. We didn't realise until we tried to return to school and…" Harry takes a breath, "I was advised to live in the muggle world and keep away from magic as there was no cure."

"To get here and realise this world is able to help Harry has been a silver lining in this." Hermione says.

"Hermione and I have been living in the muggle world since." Harry concludes. "We're both studying at University."

"What subject?" asks Minerva before any of the others can direct the conversation away again.

"Harry's studying law and social science," Hermione says, "and I'm studying history, politics and international relations with a minor in psychology."

They all blink at her.

"Hermione's brilliant." Harry says, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. "She's incredibly smart; achieved outstanding in the International Baccalaureate of Magic."

Hermione blushes but she doesn't disagree.

Harry looks away from Hermione and back to the group. He finds Dorea and Charlus looking at them both indulgently.

"Young love," Charlus comments teasingly.

Dorea taps his arm in mock chastisement but inclines her head. "You make a lovely couple."

It's Sirius who clears his throat. "Perhaps we should return to discussing what we do now." He slides James a look clearly expecting some kind of comeback but James simply looks back at him evenly.

Harry notices the by-play but he wonders at it. If their relationship is as fractured as suggested by the overheard conversations Harry has been a party to hearing, he figures neither is very comfortable with the other.

Arcturus clears his throat. "Your place in our family magic is given. It has already accepted you. Albus informed us that there is a limited concept in your own world but the duties and responsibilities of a head of a family were not as extensive as in this one?"

Harry and Hermione nod.

"That's a fair reflection." Hermione says.

"Well, perhaps a short overview of what our responsibilities are to you both, hmmm?" Charlus turns to Arcturus who nods.

"The first consideration is shelter and sanctuary." Arcturus says. "We will need to publicly declare your presence within the Wizengamot and recognise you as part of our houses."

"That will give you the protection of the family magic and no-one may challenge you on that." Charlus states. "It will then be a simple matter to obtain official papers."

"The next Wizengamot will meet on January the second." Arcturus says. "While that is only five days away we can brief Minister Bagnold and Chief Witch Marchbanks ahead of the session."

"We should probably present you," Charlus murmurs. "We do not wish to deny you your rights to your own status."

Harry resists the urge to say he doesn't mind because he has a feeling that would be seen as an abrogation of duty and honour here.

"Perhaps the Peverell seat?" suggest Sirius.

Charlus raises his glass to Sirius. "A very good suggestion," He turns to Harry. "The Peverell seat has a Wizengamot vote and a place within the ranks of the hereditary places. However, it comes with no land or vault as those were all transferred to the Potter line when the last of the Peverells married the Potter heir. It acknowledges our familial status without changing our existing hierarchy."

"It's a neat solution." James comments.

That elicits an actual double-take by Sirius which gives away how rare it must be for James to agree with him on anything.

"And do you have such a neat solution for our family line, Grandson?" asks Arcturus.

Sirius pulls his gaze away from James. "I would propose the Barony of Ravenshold."

Arcturus nods. "I agree."

"May we enquire as to the circumstances of the Barony?" Hermione asks.

"It's similar to the Peverell situation." Arcturus said. "Elizabeth Ravenshold was the last of her line and married into the Black family centuries ago. Her eldest son is the line through which our family magic has evolved and passed down from generation to generation. Officially just as Charlus could claim the Peverell seat, I could have claimed the Ravenshold. There is no property or wealth associated with the barony, I'm afraid."

"Which importantly brings us onto the practicalities of shelter." Dorea jumps in. "I understand you've been living here for the past few days since your arrival?"

"Yes," Harry confirms, "we've been receiving treatment in the infirmary."

"Then we owe a debt." Charlus says. "I'll make a donation to the Hogwarts Trust, Headmaster."

"Ditto," Arcturus echoes.

Harry clears his throat. "Hermione and I do have some funds with us. We're happy to cover any cost in regards to our accommodation and treatment here."

"You won't win this one, darling. The donations will be nothing but pocket change for each family," Dorea says. "If you do have resources, keep them for your own use." She turns her gaze to Hermione. "We will need to outfit you, my dear."

Hermione winces but nods her agreement. "I would appreciate your guidance."

"Perhaps you could join us, Regina," Dorea suggests. "I'm sure Hermione would appreciate a younger perspective."

"I think this is probably a good moment to remind you of our previous conversation and that I have offered both Harry and Hermione a position here at Hogwarts going forward." Albus says confidently.

Both families exchange long looks, even Sirius and James glance toward one another.

Charlus is the one who speaks. "We are all agreed, Albus, that we wish Harry and Hermione to be offered all the choices available to them." He held up a hand when Albus went to speak. "Your intent was good and we appreciate your generosity but this is a matter for family."

 _What?_ Harry wonders if Charlus can just object and step in like that but given everyone in the room bar himself and Hermione are looking as though this is perfectly fine, he guesses so.

Albus regards them all for a long moment. "This is truly a remarkable moment," He murmurs. "I don't believe I have ever seen your two families united on a single issue."

"Except for the importance of family," Charlus asserts.

"Indeed," Arcturus echoes.

Charlus turns back to Harry and Hermione. "Please believe we do not wish to deny you the right to take up Albus's offer if that is truly what you wish to do…" he gestures towards Sirius, "at least one of our number is already on staff here."

Sirius bows his head a touch.

"But we want you to make that choice in full knowledge of what choices are available to you and to give you agency here." Charlus finishes.

"Thank you." Harry says.

He glances at Albus who looks pensive. He knows because he knew his Dumbledore that Albus is not pleased with the turn of events. Harry figures that's because Albus wants to retain control of them and the situation. Control was at the root of many of his own Dumbledore's actions and decisions.

"Hermione and I appreciate that your decision is made because you care for us even as newly instated into your family as we are," Harry begins, "and I can't deny that Professor Dumbledore's offer did seem like a gift of a life-jacket this morning when we felt adrift," He pauses and Hermione catches his eye with an encouraging smile. "There are reasons for us to stay beyond that though, not just the Headmaster's offer to help us but also because Hogwarts is somewhat familiar to us."

"We understand," Dorea jumps in. "If you ultimately decide you wish to take Albus up on his offer, we won't mind, but we do want to give you some breathing room to consider the offer when, how did you put it, you are not feeling adrift."

Albus leans forward. "Your family are correct to protect you," he smiles, "even from my well-meaning offers." He gestures across the seating area. "What is your plan? I assume you have one?"

Charlus nods.

Harry doesn't miss the way he glances towards Arcturus and the slight gesture of acceptance the other man made before Charlus looks to his wife to speak again.

"We would like to bring you home for the holidays," Dorea says firmly. "It will certainly be easier to prepare for the Wizengamot if we were all together. We can explore your options and confirm to the Headmaster your decision on the fourth of January. Hogwarts resumes on the seventh."

"While you would be staying the majority of the time with Charlus and Dorea," Arcturus asserts, "we would also invite you to meet the rest of the family and to stay at least a night with myself, Sirius and Regina at the Blackthorn Estate."

Harry glances towards Hermione and he sees the acceptance in her eyes. They could say no but to do so would be disrespectful, and truthfully Harry is probably keener than he should be to get to know this world's version of his family. Perhaps it will give him some insight into how his grandparents would have been like if they had survived.

"Thank you," Hermione replies when he stays silent, "we'd be honoured to accept."

"The honour is ours." Charlus says with a warm smile.

Albus claps his hands. "We should eat."

They're lead through another door and into a beautiful formal dining room. Harry notices the seating cards and seats Hermione before he seats himself, waiting a second to see if there's some kind of etiquette involved.

"Hopefully we won't interrogate you too much that you don't have time to eat but I'm interested to know how you ended up in the line for the house of Black?" asks Regina softly, as the soup appears before them.

It's a lovely light creamy mushroom and Harry picks up the appropriate spoon (and wow it seems strange to be thankful to his Aunt Petunia for something).

"My godfather entailed the title to me," Harry offers. "He died when I was fourteen."

"Was the matter of his imprisonment resolved then?" Charlus is breaking a bread roll to pieces as he asks the question.

"Unfortunately,not until the night of his death." Harry's breath catches in the back of his throat and he can't look across the table because he'll see Sirius; not his Sirius but a Sirius, alive and breathing.

Hermione steps in smoothly. "Harry's godfather escaped from prison in our third year because he saw the person who was responsible for giving away the location of the Potter family on the front page of a newspaper. He remained on the run as the traitor escaped and the Ministry didn't believe his story. He died at the end of our fifth year protecting Harry, myself and our friends from the followers of the Dark Lord."

"It sounds like your school years were eventful." James comments.

Harry manages a nod towards him. "Too eventful really. I would have preferred something a little more boring."

"How did the two of you meet?" asks Regina, changing the subject smoothly.

Hermione sent her a look of gratitude. "On the train to Hogwarts in our first year. I'm afraid I was a little bossy…"

Harry smiles at her fondly. "She fixed my glasses and told me it was time to get changed."

"We both ended up in Gryffindor." Hermione continues, smiling back at him. "He saved me from a troll at Halloween and that was it; we've been friends ever since."

"A troll?" Sirius repeats. "How did a troll get in through the wards?"

"Ah," Hermione says, "well, it was the Dark Lord. He was attempting to distract everyone while he tried to make off with an important artefact held in the school."

"Still the wards should have held." Minerva frowns. "Unless there was permission granted for a troll to cross the wards," She looks to the head of the table.

Albus smiles at them genially. "I promise not to grant permission to allow a troll through the wards," He frowns himself. "I cannot think of a single instance where I would give such permission."

"How did you manage to save Hermione?" Dorea questions.

Harry swallows the mouthful of soup he'd just taken. "Our Head of House called it 'sheer dumb luck.'"

They all chuckle at that.

"It really was," Hermione says chagrined, "Harry jumped on its back and our friend Ronald, he actually manged a levitation spell and knocked it out with its own club."

"So love almost at first sight then?" suggests Regina, who's clearly taken with the tale of heroism.

"Not really," Hermione admits, "we were just best friends for a long time. But then Harry ended up needing to go back to the muggle world, and I just knew I needed to be with him," She smiles as she looks over at Harry, fondness shining from her brown eyes and warming Harry. "He finally got a clue when we went to Brighton for his nineteenth birthday."

Harry wishes in some ways it was the truth; that he had made a move, kissed her. He wonders what would have happened if he had.

"When did you get married?" asks Dorea, enthralled by their tale.

"July," Hermione answers. "Just before Harry's birthday. We went back to Brighton on our honeymoon."

"You're young to be married," James comments.

Harry shrugs lightly. "My parents were married around the same age by all accounts."

"When you know you know," Charlus says, casting a fond look in the direction of his wife.

Dorea smiles back at him, delighted.

Minerva smiles too, her gaze almost unfocused as though she's looking to the past. "I married my late Robert when I was nineteen."

"She set her cap at him at eleven," Dorea confides in a loud aside to James.

The table chuckles.

"I hear you've been offered the post of Quidditch coach and flying instructor." James says brightly. "Any good?"

Harry smiles. "I was made Seeker in my first year."

"He's a natural flier," Hermione says. "I hate it."

Harry settles back and listens as James confides he was Captain of his Quidditch team and how much he loves flying himself. Harry glances over to Sirius and finds him looking at Harry, a considering look in his eye.

Sirius raises his eyebrow a touch as though to acknowledge he's been caught but he gives the faintest hint of a smile before he returns his attention to their dinner.

Harry relaxes and tunes back in just as Hermione asks about the origin and history of family magic. That's his Hermione, he thinks fondly, and takes advantage of the answer Charlus is giving to finish his soup.


	10. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for mention of child abuse

**Interlude**

Sirius loves the Blackthorn Estate.

It's the primary residence of the Baron of Blackthorn. Forty bedrooms and bathrooms; servants' quarters; large kitchen; formal dining room; informal dining room; five separate study-rooms and offices; six separate parlours and receiving rooms; a huge library; an organgey and a conservatory; a small and a large ballroom. Acres and acres of land; woodland, parkland, an actual lake and freshwater stream; farmland. There are two hamlets; one village. All of it is plotless and under magical protection. It is a grand old country estate that befits the Black Knight.

It's the place Sirius calls home.

His first memory is entering Blackthorn as a battered child clinging to his grandfather's hand and immediately knowing he was loved by the magic lovingly seeped into every brick.

His grandfather has also always preferred Blackthorn to the castle at Tintagel which is actually meant to be the residence of the Earl of Grimmauld. It had, therefore, been somewhat of a surprise that in naming him heir, Sirius had been given the Blackthorn title and the estate, rather than the more typical Viscount Black which came with the elegant townhouse in London where Sirius had spent his first four years. But then, perhaps his grandfather's decision was in part because he had realised that Sirius's memories of that house are tainted by pain and misery. He has no desire to ever set foot in the place again.

Of course his grandfather is also a wily old wizard and it hadn't taken Sirius long to realise the Blackthorn title carried its own vote in the Wizengamot. By actually naming his heir with the more unusual but perfectly valid title, Arcturus had ended up with another proxy vote at his call.

Sirius isn't too bothered by the political machinations; he's been trained in them once his grandfather had assumed the responsibility of raising him, and he will one day take his place in the Wizengamot fully. But he and his grandfather have a plan and Sirius knows he's exactly where he needs to be; at Hogwarts.

Still…he breathes a little easier as he enters the Blackthorn wards and leads the small gathering of Potters and Blacks through to the formal parlour, along with Minerva who Charlus had invited along. Sirius wishes they could have convinced Harry and Hermione to come with them immediately after dinner, but he can't deny it's probably for the best that the two families discuss things before Harry and Hermione are with them fully.  Waiting a night and retrieving their newest members in the morning isn't too long a wait. Sirius is a little surprised that Charlus requested they convene at Blackthorn rather than at the Potter estate but he doesn't let that show on his face as they settle into the comfortable sofas and chairs.

His grandfather calls for refreshments and the next five minutes are spent with the elves doling out drinks. Charlus, Dorea and his grandfather both go for an aged port, Minerva for her usual Scotch. Regina opts for tea and it amuses Sirius that both he and James choose black coffee.

His grandfather clears his throat and gains the attention of the group. "We have a lot to discuss in terms of this evening's events but Charlus, you had something you wished to raise?"

"Yes," Charlus gestures at his son, "James."

James sets his coffee aside and faces them with a determined stare. "Lord Arcturus, I offer my unreserved apology to you and to your heir. During our time at Hogwarts, there was an incident which occurred which coloured my view of Baron Blackthorn and led me to treat him without the respect our positions should have afforded. I recently became aware that the incident was not his fault, and was actually a service to our family. I am deeply sorry for my past actions and behaviour, not least of all advising my father to ignore the rapprochement you came to us with last year."

Sirius can't quite keep his shock out of his expression despite all his training. He has never expected for James to apologise or for Lupin to tell the truth. He wonders what has driven Lupin to inform James after so many years of silence.

"I, of course, accept your apology," his grandfather says and looks over to Charlus. "Under the circumstances, I would request for our rapprochement to be reconsidered."

"I agree," Charlus says. "I think it is time for us to set aside all past conflict. I know Dorea has missed her family and cousins since she married me. We can speak later of the Wizengamot announcement on our rapprochement." He pauses. "As much as I am disappointed that we came to this point because of misunderstandings and the truth finally being known by all," his eyes flicker to his son who ducks his head, "I am glad we can come together given the arrival of Harry and Hermione, but we should conclude this discussion before we move on. We owe you a debt of honour and we will make a formal apology."

Arcturus nods. "As it is my heir who bore the brunt of your heir's ire all these years, I therefore suggest James and Sirius agree acceptable terms to make amends there."

It doesn't hurt their political standing at all if the next Earl of Gryffindor were to owe them a favour, muses Sirius. He nods at his grandfather to acknowledge he will take care of the matter and do the best for the family.

Sirius won't deny that there's a tiny sense of satisfaction from seeing James so uncomfortable as Charlus agrees to his grandfather's suggestion. He allows himself a moment to revel in it because he has endured years of torment; of outright hatred, insults and pranks (although he foiled most of them and had come to consider them a way to keep his instincts fresh by the time he'd left Hogwarts as a student).

James though takes it on the chin like a true Gryffindor and bows his head in acknowledgement before turning to Sirius himself. "Perhaps we can stay back when the rest of our business is concluded?"

"Of course," Sirius says smoothly.

His grandfather gives a satisfied huff and motions at Charlus. "We shall move on. We all agreed a separate discussion about Harry and Hermione needed to happen outside of the walls of Hogwarts. The floor is yours, Charlus."

"First things first, thoughts on our two new family members?" asks Charlus.

Dorea sighs. "They seem like a lovely couple who have been through more than most should ever experience at their young age."

"She's his strength," Minerva offers. "He looks to her even when he speaks for them, she is his constant thought. He was distraught when they arrived and she was so injured."

Regina nods. "But if she is his strength, he is hers. She gains confidence by having him at her side."

"They are a formidable pair," his grandfather states with unusual bluntness. "He has the power to carry both the Gryffindor and Grimmauld legacies; she clearly is his partner in all things and she is as smart as a whip."

"The family magic adores him," Charlus agrees. "In all honesty, I'm grateful he's so willing to settle for a simple title while he is with us."

"As though there is anything simple about the Peverell title," his grandfather counters.

And that's true. Peverell carries a certain cachet in their world but Sirius doesn't think magic would have settled for anything less.

"James, Sirius?" Charlus invites them to comment.

James glances at Sirius and Sirius nods at him. James has rank and he is a guest in their home for all his grandfather is allowing Charlus to effectively lead the discussion.

"He's clearly been abused," James says. "His stories…" he shakes his head, "no child should have had to have gone through his experiences. Where in Merlin's name were the adults in that world?" His hand rubs at his chest in a telling gesture which gives away how much he is affected.

"I can't say I didn't think the same thing," Minerva comments dryly.

"It's something we should consider as we move forward with them," Charlus states. "He is used to dealing without family; without the help of a more experienced adult who has his best interests at heart. While he is with us we must provide to him the sanctuary and comfort he did not receive in his home world."

"And then we send him back," Dorea sighs. "Something about that just makes my heart break."

"Let us cross that bridge when we come to it," Charlus takes her hand. "From the discussion at dinner, breaking the spell may take many years."

"Albus believes it will take almost seven," Minerva reports. "But then in his plan, only he and Hermione will actively be working on it."

"Why wouldn't we refer the spell to the DOM?" asks Charlus crossly.

"Albus prefers to keep control," Minerva says. "I am certain had I not pointed out and reminded him that the family magic was bound to have already alerted you to Harry's arrival that he would have attempted to have kept the origins of their presence here a complete secret."

"Well, the spell will be referred and we will wait to see if his estimate is confirmed," Charlus says. "Sirius?"

Sirius considers what he wants to say and what he should say for a long moment. "There is a myth from the time of Arthur..." he can see James visibly restrain himself from jumping in or more likely complaining, "...it is said that Merlin travelled through a crystal cave and found himself in another world. He lived a lifetime there with another Arthur, another Guinevere, another Morgana."

The others were silent allowing him to tell the tale.

"When he returned to our world, it had been as though not a day had passed," Sirius says. "And so Merlin lived again and used his knowledge of what had happened in the other world to steer Arthur here; to embody our family magic with an intent to protect and love so it would be the greatest dishonour to act against its wishes and guidance."

"You believe our pair are from this other world?" asks Dorea quietly.

"Perhaps," Sirius shrugs lightly, "or they may be from another. But their experiences…they look at us as if we are ghosts..." he pauses and allows himself a small sigh. "He struggles to look at some of us at all."

"He said Dumbledore was dead in their world and he did tell us he had lost the rest of his family," Minerva says thoughtfully. "It may very well be that many of us are dead in their world."

"A sobering thought," Charlus says. "We should take care to consider that in our interactions. If he is grieving still…he will hurt no matter."

"I think we should also consider they're not from our time," Sirius says. "We're a similar age but neither James nor I were mentioned in stories as contemporaries. He doesn't mention his lineage, his parents' and his godfather's names were not stated, intentionally I think. He may be from a future generation yet born here."

"Your reasoning is sound," his grandfather says and Sirius knows his grandfather has probably had the same thoughts.

"It's not just that. He talked about the rise of the Dark Lord," James comments, "although they said it happened in their nineteen-seventies." He raises his cup at Sirius. "There are rumours here now of the same which also made me wonder about the timeline of our worlds."

Sirius wonders at just how much James' attitude has changed with the truth of what had happened with Lupin acknowledged. He focuses back on the discussion. "Rumours?"

James grimaces. "The DOM picked up chatter about Romania about twelve months ago. A part of the countryside had gone dark."

Dark.

Sirius' mind whirls. Dark meant that someone had enacted a magical lockdown. Nothing in and nothing out.

"There was an unsubstantiated report that the Romanian vampire clan and a feral werewolf pack was on the inside when it went dark," James continues. "About eight months ago, local children nearby went missing with their families slaughtered; seven girls of magical lineage."

"Dear Merlin!" breathes Dorea with horror.

It's an echo of the horror inside Sirius' own head. He knows of only two rituals which use female children in that way and both of them are horrifically evil.

"Six months ago the countryside suddenly opened up again," James says. "The area inside was…desolated. The found the bones of the seven girls in the old ruins of a casting circle."

"Why hasn't the Wizengamot been informed of this?" asks Charlus, his eyes glittering with anger.

"The ICW sealed the events under a classified status for a long time," James tells him. "The DOM didn't even brief the Auror Corp until three months ago and that was only because seven muggle children were taken and slaughtered at Stonehenge on Halloween."

"Muggles?" asks Minerva sharply.

"Magical children are too monitored in the UK," James points out. "The authorities would immediately know of a threat."

"So this monster preys on muggles who are not well-watched," Charlus comments with disgust.

"I would repeat Charlus' previous question; why hasn't the Wizengamot been informed?" asks his grandfather.

James shrugs. "You'd have to ask Director Bell and the Minister," he waves a hand. "The reports are no longer classified."

"I shall make enquiries," his grandfather replies.

"That's not the end of it though, is it?" Sirius prompts, his eyes watching James' expression.

James shakes his head. "Two weeks ago, we had a report of a unicorn being slaughtered in the protected Shire in Cornwall. Moody's had us performing a surveillance on the herd in Hoggle Forest since."

"And?" asks Charlus.

"Seven magical people apparated into the forest last night and tried to slaughter one of the unicorns. The centaurs responded to the threat and came to the rescue just before my team and I could intervene ourselves," James finishes.

"Seven," his grandfather murmurs.

Charlus sighs. "Arcturus?"

His grandfather shifts his weight before replying. "You remember Riddle?"

"Riddle?" Charlus's eyebrows rise. "Hard to forget the Head Boy of our year, Arcturus."

Sirius watches as James' eyebrows shoot up. Clearly the younger Potter hadn't realised his father had been at school at the same time as Arcturus. But then perhaps James hadn't put together the historical scandal of his mother marrying a Potter against the wishes of her family with his parents' difficulty in conceiving an heir.

Sirius has done the math and knows the conception happened within a month of the previous Earl of Grimmauld's death. He figures his great-grandfather had done something to curse Dorea and it had been lifted upon death. It's a huge stain on their family magic. His grandfather has worked tirelessly since to mend fences and their honour, and Sirius is glad that they're finally able to establish the rapprochement.

"Riddle had a thing about the number seven."

Charlus sucks in a breath. "Arcturus, you don't mean to say…"

"He left England after Hogwarts to travel. He might have been Dippet's favourite but he didn't get offered the apprenticeship from Dippet he was expecting because the school governors stepped in."

Sirius stares at his grandfather. "You think he's this Dark Lord."

"I think he is a candidate," his grandfather corrects. "It needs more investigation."

"Which is why the _Aurors_ are investigating," James stresses.

"But also why the Wizengamot should be informed," Charlus corrects James firmly in the same way Sirius' grandfather had just corrected him.

"Unless there are already members of the Wizengamot compromised," Sirius points out.

James sends him a quick look filled with gratitude which almost distracts Sirius as his grandfather notes that Sirius' words have validity and perhaps they need to proceed with care.

"We'll leave the political machinations to you both," Dorea tells Charlus and his grandfather. "Let's talk more about the plan for Harry and Hermione."

"An excellent idea!" Minerva raises her glass in support.

"Hear, hear," Regina says. Her face is pale and Sirius makes a mental note to check in on her later.

"Tomorrow, Charlus and I will go to pick them up," Dorea instructs. There is steel in her voice; a daughter of the House of Black who expects to be obeyed. "We'll take them back to the Potter estate. We'll let them settle in." She pauses and gestures at the two older men. "At some point tomorrow, you and Arcturus should go to the Minister and the Chief Witch; bring them into the loop." She waits until they both acknowledge the order before moving on. "We'll all eat dinner together, of course."

Sirius sighs inwardly while he registers James' more obvious wince. He doesn't know what James had planned but he'd promised Frank Longbottom a night out of the house away from the domestic war between his grieving mother and his new wife. It would have to wait. Frank would understand; the Longbottoms know family magic and its duty.

"I propose we go over the plan with them then," Dorea says.

An elf pops in and refreshes the glasses.

"It may play better with the both of them if we include them in the planning," Minerva says dryly.

"We can suggest a plan to them," says Sirius, "and allow them the final decisions."

Dorea's eyes flit to his. She has the same silver hue as his; family stamped indelibly on them. "A good suggestion," she allows.

"What are we suggesting then?" asks Charlus with a hint of mischief in his tone.

"Shopping," Regina suggests. "They need to be completely outfitted."

"Health checks with our healers," Dorea taps her wand and a parchment appears with a quill and begins taking notes. "Ariana and Poppy are wonderful but I'd feel better if Healer Albright takes a look at them too."

"An introduction to Bagnold and Marchbanks," James says out loud.

Minerva and Dorea each raise an eyebrow at him and James flushes.

"I mean, Minister Bagnold and Chief Witch Marchbanks," James hurriedly corrects.

Sirius is beginning to admire his cousin and how she clearly has established her rule within her family.

"Another dinner?" suggests Regina. "They'll be able to meet them in relative privacy then."

"We'll also need to spend some time preparing him for the Wizengamot presentation," Charlus adds. "We can do that on the same day."

"New Year's Eve is the Ministerial ball," Dorea muses with a frown.

Charlus sighs. "I don't believe putting them under that kind of scrutiny before the presentation is a good idea."

"But I don't want to leave them alone in the house either," Dorea says.

"So I can stay with them," James says. "All I had planned was a night out with the lads."

His grandfather looked pointedly at Sirius.

"I can also make myself available," Sirius confirms. In all honesty he's pleased to get out of the ball. He hates the damn things.

Regina's lips twitch as though she can hear his inner dialogue.

James looks slightly discomfited but Sirius isn't too worried about that.

"Good," Dorea murmurs. "They can have a relaxing night at home with the both of you."

"We'll bring them here for New Year's day," his grandfather suggests. "We can all have lunch together perhaps and you are all invited to stay." He turns to Minerva. "Including yourself, Minerva, of course."

"Thank you, Arcturus," Charlus says, "we will be honoured to attend."

"But unfortunately, I will have to decline." Minerva says with genuine regret. "I will be needed at Hogwarts."

"Oh, come on, Aunt Minnie!" James protests. "You can ask for a day release surely?"

The eyebrow thing happens again and James seems to sink further into his seat.

"Perhaps, I can request a pass," Minerva allows once she's enjoyed seeing James squirm for a moment. "If nothing else the Headmaster will see the benefit of having as many moles at the table as he believes he has cultivated."

Her eyes flit to Sirius and he looks impassively back at her. He has spent too many years forging his relationship with Dumbledore to fall at the hurdle of giving himself away to Minerva.

"Actually," Minerva says, her eyes glinting with barely hidden amusement, "I believe Sirius and James should take leave and spend the holidays with Harry and Hermione."

Sirius almost admires her gumption.

"Now that is an excellent idea," Charlus says.

"WHAT?!"

Sirius has to check for a moment that it was James who uttered the protest and not himself.

His grandfather has a small uptick at the corner of his mouth which gives away how amused he is at the turn of events so it's not really a surprise when he agrees with Charlus.

Sirius cocks his head toward his grandfather because Merlin knows it's taken them long enough to get close to Dumbledore but…but Sirius cannot deny he thinks he needs to follow the suggestion. His magic is almost shouting at him.

"I'll speak with the Headmaster in the morning and make arrangements," Sirius says.

James' lips set in a mutinous line but he gives a terse nod. "I'll clear it with Moody."

"You'll stay with us, Sirius, of course," Dorea invites him with the smoothness she undoubtedly learned from her family before she could write the alphabet.

Sirius bows his head. "I'll be honoured."

"Good. Which brings us to January second which will be the Wizengamot," Dorea says as the quill writes rapidly against the parchment.

"You should spend the next day going over their options," Minerva suggests. "They'll need to make a decision on the fourth, and I would suggest if they do decide to return to Hogwarts they'll need the weekend to plan lessons and prepare."

"We should also provide some time for fun," James says.

"You just want to go flying," his mother retorts.

James grins at her cheekily. "Of course."

Dorea rolls her eyes at her son but there's too much fondness in her expression for anyone to be fooled into thinking she's truly upset with him.

"Well, it's the beginnings of a good plan," Dorea taps her wand and the parchment rolls up and disappears.

"Charlus, perhaps we can retire to my office and think about how we can present this to the Minister and Chief Witch," his grandfather says.

Dorea takes it for the hint it is and stands. "I'll head home and leave you to it."

There is a flurry of goodbyes; Minerva follows Dorea, Regina excuses herself to bed. Charlus and his grandfather disappear to the older man's study and Sirius is left with James.

Sirius calls for his elf for more refreshments. He and James both choose something alcoholic. Sirius offers a cigar but isn't surprised when James refuses. Sirius doesn't like the things either and so takes a seat opposite James with only the glass of cognac in his hand.

"What exactly did Remus Lupin tell you?" asks Sirius.

James frowns and swirls the cognac he holds. "That he was involved with Narcissa. Bellatrix attacked them and you intervened. He said you saved them both. You were returning to assist Remus when…when I turned up and misconstrued everything."

Sirius wonders if Lupin told the whole truth or just enough. "Did he tell you that he did most of the damage to Cissy and claimed Bellatrix had him under a compulsion spell?"

He reads the answer from the shock which glimmers in James' eyes for a long moment before the other man can regroup.  There's a tightening in James' expression; he's angry but Sirius thinks it's actually aimed at the right person for once.

"I didn't have time to verify the claim," Sirius continues, leaving out that the reason for that was James turning up and attempting to kill him, "and I don't suppose he informed his healer."

James shook his head. "He would have been embarrassed," he admits. "Remus rejects his wolf so it can cause issues."

"You think that's why his wolf allowed him to be controlled whereas most werewolves shake off the Imperius and the other control spells without issue," Sirius challenges almost gently.

"The control thing is why he couldn't get into the Aurors," James sighs. "He's a reluctant werewolf."

"He was with you when you were watching the unicorn herd," Sirius comments. It had been all Poppy had been able to talk about; that and the arrival of the inter-dimensional travellers.

"Peter, Bertie and I…we don't like leaving Remus out, but having him with us that night was a mistake," James admits. "Our werewolf laws aren't that restrictive but he still struggles to find work and he won't take charity or pity. He has a tendency to retreat to the packs when he gets too down about things."

"His cowardice almost cost you your honour," Sirius points out bluntly.

James winces but he acknowledges the truth with a bow of his head.

They both sip the cognac.

"Why did he decide to tell you?" asks Sirius.

James sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "He didn't. Dumbledore told me to stop holding a grudge against you and to demand the truth from Remus. Remus, well…he told me when I pressed him on it." He sighs and looks over at Sirius. "I assume you told Dumbledore the truth back then?"

Sirius debates his reply for a moment before he shakes his head. "I assume he plucked it out of Cissy's head. She's always been pants at Occlumency."

James blinks at him. "You mean…"

"Dumbledore is a Leglimens," Sirius confirms, raising his glass. He sips the cognac and appreciates its warm tones before continuing. He needs to be careful. He wants to make James aware of Dumbledore's flaws without causing any suspicion. "You should protect your mind better."

James grimaces. "Let's just say I have something in common with your cousin – words I thought I would never say – and leave it at that."

"Your heir ring would give you protection," Sirius points out. He can't remember ever seeing James with the ring on.

"You're right," James sighs. "Maybe I should start wearing it."

Sirius stamps on the impulse to ask James why he hasn't been wearing it; it's really none of his business.

James sighs again. "This is such a mess."

Sirius raises an eyebrow and doesn't stop to consider that it probably echoes Dorea's until James blushes.

"My fault, I know," James fidgets with his cognac before tossing the whole glass back.

Sirius is impressed he doesn't choke on the drink. "You didn't like me before the incident with Lupin. You and your Mischief Makers tormented me from day one."

"You're a Black," James retorts.

"So are you," Sirius shoots back. The Gryffindor legacy is prime in James' heritage but he has Black blood too.

James grimaces and sets the empty glass aside, sitting forward. "I found my mother crying once. It wasn't long before Hogwarts. There was some kind of event and she'd gone and endured a whole day with your family – well, not you but the others. I blamed your family because my mother was crying."

Sirius doesn't say anything. He understands – not in regard to his own mother who had been a bitch and he's still pleased she's dead and gone - but his grandmother had raised him until she had died. He figures if he had found her crying, he would have happily killed whoever had caused her tears. He's the same with Regina. If anyone hurt his sister…

"You were the easiest target within reach," James continues. "I just…I was eleven and someone had hurt my mother and suddenly you were there in front of me." He breathes in. "That first year was all about my mother."

"And the rest until Lupin?" asks Sirius curious.

"Ah, well," James blushes again, "that was because of Evans."

Sirius blinks. "Evans?"

James shrugs and looks bashful. "I liked her. She wouldn't give me the time of day, but you were always hanging out together."

"We were in the same house," Sirius says dryly.

Truthfully, he and Lily Evans have never been friends, but she has also not treated him unfairly either. At school, Ravenclaw had been suspicious of his Sorting since he was the first Black not to go to Slytherin. Lily had become best friends with his cousin Alice McMillan who had also sorted into Ravenclaw, and that was why they'd ended up spending time together at school. It's why they had ended up being best man and chief bridesmaid at Alice and Frank's wedding. They've actually ended up working together at Hogwarts where Lily is the Muggle Studies professor.

Lily's still cool to Sirius though. Probably because Sirius has never pretended to like her friend Severus Snape. The heir to the Prince estate is a socially inept genius with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Earth. The only person Snape seems to like is Lily.

But if Lily is cool to Sirius, she's positively arctic with James. That might have had something to do with James pulling her metaphorical pigtails all the time they were in school – which in hindsight was obviously James declaring his interest with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.

"So," Sirius says, dragging himself back to the conversation at hand, "you hated the Blacks for hurting your mother, you thought I was a rival for the girl you were crushing on, and that's why you made me enemy number one even before Lupin."

"That pretty much sums it up," James murmurs. "Although to be fair, Snape took that prize in our fifth year."

They both share a look of complete understanding because fifth year had been the year when Snape had been the most obnoxious.

"I am sorry," James says. It's quiet and sincere.

Sirius believes James believes it.

James gets to his feet. "What are your terms?"

Sirius taps his cognac glass and places it on the table. He stands and squares his shoulders. "An honest attempt to build a familial relationship."

James' gaze narrows at him. "That's it?"

Sirius nods. "That's it."

He doesn't say he thinks they're going to need each other; doesn't mention the prophecy sitting on a shelf in the DOM; doesn't tell James that war is coming. But maybe James already knows that.

James breathes in sharply. "Agreed."

They shake on it and there is a flash as their agreement is sealed by magic.

Sirius escorts James to the floo and watches as the other man leaves. He breathes deeply.

Things are changing.

His mind flits to the steady green gaze of a young man not so much younger than himself; the weight of the world in those eyes and the sharp pain of looking at a ghost come to life. He wonders for an instance who he was to Harry to be so loved and so missed.

Sirius shakes off the thought. He needs to sleep. Tomorrow will be a day of dancing with Dumbledore and bringing Harry and Hermione home.

Things are changing, Sirius thinks grimly, and the House of Black will be ready.


	11. Going home

"Are we doing the right thing?" asks Harry, stirring his porridge around his bowl rather than eating it.

Hermione looks pointedly at his food and waits until he spoons some into his mouth before answering him. "I think we're doing the right thing _for this world_."

It's an interesting qualification but he accepts it. He spoons up more porridge.

"I have to admit I'm a little nervous," Hermione says.

Harry looks over at her questioningly.

"Hogwarts is familiar," Hermione says, "and no matter how nice your family seems, it does seem like a leap of faith going with them."

Harry nods because she's just put into words how Harry feels about it all.

"Not to mention it's going to be weird for you to be around Sirius and James," Hermione says quietly, "given the circumstances."

"They seem nice and it doesn't sound like they're going to be around much with their work and everything," Harry replies, beginning to stir his food again rather than eating it, "but…yeah. Weird. It's not so bad with Arcturus and Regina, even my grandparents."

"Your grandparents are lovely," Hermione says, setting her spoon in her empty bowl and pushing it aside. "You can tell they really love each other."

She sounds so wistful that Harry peers at her quizzically again.

Hermione's cheek blush pink but she smiles, if a little sadly. "Most of my grandparents are gone now. I remember going on caravan holidays with Nana and Grandad Cotter when I was young. They were both teachers and they would always let me ask anything I wanted. My Dad's side was a little more formal? Grandad Granger was a retired Colonel and Grams was a stay-at-home wife. They had this cottage down in Cornwall and we'd go for a couple of weeks every Summer, and they'd visit for Christmas Day."

"They sound great," comments Harry, abandoning the last of his porridge. He wonders which of them is still alive, but he doesn't want to ask anything which might be too personal – which is a touch bizarre, Harry allows to himself, given Hermione knows all of his family history pretty much.

Hermione seems to sense his unspoken question though because she continues. "Grams is the only one alive now. Nana and Grandad died just before I began Hogwarts – Nana hadn't been well and Grandad went within a couple of months of her dying. The Colonel died of a heartattack when I was six; I barely remember him really."

"I guess you don't get to see much of your Grams?" asks Harry carefully.

"She and Dad had a falling out just after I started at Hogwarts," Hermione frowns, "I never knew why."

"Maybe when we're back home we can look her up," Harry suggests.

Hermione smiles at him but her eyes remain sad. "I guess." She sighs heavily and pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Grams isn't young anymore and we're going to be here a while."

Harry grimaces but he nods because she's right. "We need a plan for tackling that spell."

Hermione nods. "I started noting down some preliminary thoughts while you were asleep yesterday. We can go over them later."

Harry's not surprised she's already started to work on it.

There's a knock on the door and Harry calls for the person to enter.

His eyes widen as Sirius enters. The heir of Black is dressed down; a simple grey day robe over a grey jumper and jeans; his hair is tied back with a simple strip of grey leather. Everything looks high quality though and Harry feels very underdressed in his own department store bargain bin jeans and thick cable-knit jumper.

"Sirius," Hermione says, getting up, "we weren't expecting to see you this morning."

Harry scrambles from his own chair to stand beside Hermione.

"We had a change of plans last night and I thought you might appreciate the heads-up," Sirius says, waving them back into their seats and accepting Hermione's offer of tea. He conjures his own seat and sits with them at the table.

Harry mentally notes the ease at which this Sirius can conjure, and that the chair he's conjured is the same as the ones Harry and Hermione occupy right down to the detailed upholstery. "There's a change in plan?"

"The families conferred last night and thought it might be best if we all took some time off work to spend with you both, so we can get to know each other," Sirius explains. "I'll be joining you and Hermione at Potter House."

Harry can't help but feel torn about the news that he's going to be expected to spend even more time with Sirius and James. On one hand, he's pleased to spend time with them, but on the other…every time he looks at them it reminds him of losing his own Sirius, of the father he has only ever spoken to as a ghost. He has to get over it, Harry thinks to himself briskly. Hermione's estimating it will take them years to get home and he can't keep avoiding Sirius and James that whole time.

"I appreciate that being surrounded by so much family might be overwhelming if you're not used to it," Sirius says gently.

"Sorry," Harry says, fighting to keep his embarrassment off his face at Sirius's understanding, "I just…"

"You don't have to explain," Sirius cuts in, "it must be weird for you."

"Yeah," Harry murmurs, "kind of. We were just saying as much."

Hermione looks at him encouragingly.

Harry shrugs. "But I guess it's a good thing?"

"We hope it will be," says Sirius. "But we all want you to know if you need a break from the family just to say. Nobody will be offended if you want some time alone."

Harry's not sure how to respond to the compassionate offer. His throat tightens up when he tried to respond.

"Thank you," Hermione says. She reaches across the table and Harry takes hold of her hand gratefully. "We're thrilled at the welcome we've received but as you and Harry have said; it's a strange situation for us."

"I can imagine," Sirius says before he pauses. "Well, actually," he continues, "I'm not sure I can imagine. I'm not sure I'd be as calm finding myself in another dimension." There's a wry self-deprecation which surprises Harry but it makes Sirius more human and relatable than the calm mask of the Baron of Blackthorn.

"We've had our moments," Harry says dryly.

Hermione gives a warm chuckle and they smile at each other over the table.

Sirius clears his throat and they both startle at the sound.

"Sorry," says Harry again, very aware that he's blushing bright red.

"No, no," Sirius says teasingly, "it's very sweet the way you two are with each other. It kind of makes me regret that I'm still a bachelor."

"Are you seeing anyone?" asks Hermione delicately.

Sirius shakes his head. "Not right now. I thought I'd focus on gaining some work experience outside the family business before I have to settle down to it, and truthfully, I haven't met someone who I'd like to spend the rest of my life with." He points a finger at them. "But the two of you being so together is probably going to get Gramps back on my case."

"We apologise," Hermione says with mock sympathy, her eyes bright with mirth.

Sirius smiles at her and turns to Harry. "Do you have anything that needs packing or…"

"We're good," Harry says, "we're all packed and ready." His necklace is back around his neck and Hermione has her purse ready on her bedside cabinet.

"Good," Sirius's expression sobers. "I should also probably explain some of the history between the Blacks and the Potters?"

"That would be welcomed," Hermione replies with a quick glance at Harry, "I mean, we know the history on our world but we don't want to presume it's the same."

Sirius tilts his head, his expression one of understanding. "We're both one of the older noble families. Our politics aren't all that dissimilar in truth, but the Potters generally have been a little more progressive and the Blacks are a little more traditional. For a long time, we were…not friends, but not enemies if that makes sense."

Harry nods.

"My grandfather went to school with Charlus," Sirius continues, "they became friends for all that they were in different Houses. It was my grandfather who introduced Dorea to Charlus."

Hermione's eyes are bright with curiosity.

"My great-grandfather apparently had planned for her to marry a minor European noble, so he wasn't best pleased when Dorea disobeyed him and married Charlus," Sirius says. "It essentially created the rift between our two families, because he essentially banned anyone else in the family from interacting with Dorea except on a purely superficial level and, although we don't have proof, we believe he cursed her with infertility."

"Dorea had James quite late, didn't she?" says Hermione, putting together the puzzle pieces.

"Yes," Sirius confirms, "and she fell pregnant soon after the death of my great-grandfather by all accounts." He sighs. "He dishonoured the family magic."

"That has serious implications from what we've read," Hermione says.

Sirius nods. "My grandfather was set to make immediate amends when my grandmother had a vision and prevented him from doing so. She claimed any rapprochement had to wait until after her death."

Harry frowns. "She had a vision?"

"She had the Sight," Sirius says, "it's a gift she passed onto Regina, part of the legacy of her maternal line."

"But…" Hermione begins before she catches herself and holds up a hand, "sorry, I just find Divination to be…" she struggles to find an acceptable word.

"Woolly," suggests Harry.

Hermione squeezes his hand. "That."

Harry shrugs. "Trelawney was loopy, but she did manage to make two prophecies."

"Are you talking about Sybil Trelawney?" asks Sirius sounding scandalised.

"Uh, yes?" Harry confirms tentatively.

Sirius shakes his head in disbelief. "She interviewed for a position here at Hogwarts last year. The Headmaster thought she was a fraud."

Harry and Hermione exchange a lightening quick look of concern.

Sirius looks at Harry pointedly.

"Just…she gave a prophecy when she interviewed for Dumbledore in our world so…" Harry trails away uncertainly and looks at Hermione.

"But it may not have been the first interview he held with her," Hermione says matter-of-factly, "we don't really know. Actually, if he had already interviewed her before and thought she was a fake, it might explain why he was interviewing her the time we know about in a pub instead of at Hogwarts."

Harry sighs because it's not like they can ask either Trelawney or their Dumbledore. He turns back to Sirius and shrugs.

"It's probably nothing," he says awkwardly.

Sirius nods slowly. "Our timelines are completely out of synch, aren't they?"

"We think our universes are off by a factor of about twenty years," Hermione agrees. "Events are happening here which happened years ago in our world."

"Which means your present is potentially our future," concludes Sirius.

"Maybe," Hermione allows in a careful tone, "but there are substantial differences between our worlds already. Perhaps some of the events which are transpiring or will transpire will be the same, but we can't know for certain."

Sirius accepts that with another nod.

"You said that your grandmother had a vision?" prompts Harry, changing the subject back to their original topic.

"Yes," Sirius agrees, "so my grandfather waited as Grams requested and when my grandmother died, he approached Charlus for what is formally known as a rapprochement."

"But it was refused?" Harry thinks out loud, remembering his overheard conversation between James and Remus.

Sirius nods slowly. "Unfortunately, there was an incident here at Hogwarts when James and I were students. He thought I'd attacked a member of his group of friends."

He presses his lips together and Harry figures Sirius is working out how much of the Remus tale to tell them.

"James and I didn't really get along at school. He was in Gryffindor and I was in Ravenclaw. We didn't really interact but I was a Black and that was enough to gain James' initial animosity," he grimaces briefly. "I dare say I wasn't that friendly either. I was very studious and probably took everything a little too seriously – no pun intended."

Harry smiles, but he's caught on a revelation which hadn't come up the night before. "You're a Ravenclaw?"

"First Black not to sort into Slytherin," Sirius confirms. He makes a small gesture. "Anyway, James and I were definitely not friends at school. When my grandfather approached Charlus to ask for the rapprochement, James advised against it. It wasn't until last night that James apologised after his friend had finally told him the truth about what happened. Charlus has accepted the rapprochement so our two families can rebuild our relationship."

"Thank you for telling us," Hermione says softly, "we appreciate knowing the background."

Sirius gives a small nod. "You should also know that both families are united in making sure your time here is spent among people who care about you and that you're given every opportunity to live a good life, to have choices."

Harry can't help but notice how sincere Sirius is and he's comforted by his words. If there's one thing that's been distinctly lacking in Harry's life to date, it's choice. "Thank you, that means a lot to us."

"And, on that note, I feel I should warn you that Dorea has a plan," Sirius' smile is warm and rueful, "she reminds me of my grandmother."

Harry smiles at that because Dorea also sounds just like Hermione.

"Nothing's set in stone – well, except for the Wizengamot which none of us are getting out of, but the rest…we wanted to get your input too," concludes Sirius.

There's a knock at the door and Ariana bustles in at Hermione's call to enter. She blinks at the sight of Sirius sitting at the table.

"Professor Black," she says, "I didn't realise you were visiting."

Sirius looks visibly abashed as he stands, but Harry figures it's an act given the Sirius he observed at dinner was the epitome of calm and refined dignity. Harry and Hermione follow his lead though and get to their feet.

"My apologies, Healer Dumbledore," Sirius says formally, "I just wanted a brief word with my cousins before the rest of the family descended."

Ariana hums but she nods. "Quite right too," she says, "and it's good to know they're going home to family and not just stuck here at the school. Albus sometimes forgets there's life outside of these walls." She gestures at the door. "But if you'll excuse us I'd like to examine my patients before they leave."

Sirius gives a small bow to her and turns back to Harry. "I'll meet you at the Headmaster's entrance when you're done. Kitsy will show you the way."

Harry nods. "We'll be down soon."

He nips into the bathroom while Hermione is examined and she takes the opportunity to do the same while Ariana examines him.

"The first treatment has settled well," Ariana says, pleased, "I'm sure Dorea will want the Potter Healer to have a look at you but you've made a good start." She taps the air and a parchment appears. She taps it twice and it rolls up. She hands it to Harry. "Your full treatment history here at Hogwarts is included. You'll need to give this to Healer Albright."

Harry accepts the parchment, minimising wordlessly to put it into his pocket.

"I have one more thing for you." She taps the air again and something falls from the air and into her hand. She hands it to Harry. "This will help you keep control of your magic."

Harry turns the copper circlet over in his hand. It's a thin band of cooper open-ended with a thin space between the ends. It kind of reminds him of the adverts for arthritic copper bangles he'd seen in his Aunt's magazines. Ariana shows him how to put it on and take it off with a quick wordless spell. He wears it on his wrist and as it settles against his skin he can feel the faint ripples of his magic he still feels despite the treatment the day before, calm even further.

"It will only be visible to you, but you should inform your healer you are wearing one," Ariana says briskly, "and you'll need to remove it during treatment. But you'll be able to stop wearing it once you've completed your full course of treatment."

"Thank you," he says, "not just for this but for everything."

"Just my job but the thanks are appreciated," Ariana says kindly. "Now, let me show you and your Hermione to the right entrance."

Hermione's just waiting outside the door for him and Harry slides his hand into hers as they follow Ariana back through the maze of corridors and down a set of moving stairs to a rather undistinguished door. They step through and into a small courtyard.

There's a Rolls Royce Phantom parked in front of the door. It's beautiful and the silver colour catches Harry's eye for a second before his attention is arrested by the crowd of people stood beside it; Dumbledore and his family – Charlus, Dorea and Sirius. He wonders where James is absently before he focuses on saying goodbye to Ariana.

"It's been a pleasure, Harry, Hermione," Ariana says warmly. "I hope to see you back here as colleagues, but I know you'll have every option available to you."

They shake hands and Hermione says her own thanks before Ariana steps back into the castle.

Harry turns towards Dumbledore and shakes his offered hand firmly. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Albus," Dumbledore stresses, "and I hope to see you back here at Hogwarts for the new term."

Harry smiles tightly.

Hermione accepts Dumbledore kissing her knuckles lightly and agrees to keep him in the loop of her studies on the crystal ball and spell.

Finally, Harry is left alone with his family. They greet Hermione and himself with what feels like genuine affection. They introduce the driver – a house elf named Parker. They explain and apologise for the lack of James, who apparently is clearing paperwork to enable him to take the rest of the holidays as special leave.

Charlus ushers them into the back of the car and they settle into the plush upholstery a touch self-consciously. Hermione and he settle on the bench behind the driver. Sirius slides in next to Harry with an apologetic smile but there is plenty of room.

Dorea and Charlus face them and the car sets off at a sedate pace. Harry can hardly believe the smoothness of the ride, remembering far too well the horrors of the Knight Bus. And the Floo. And the portkeys. Not to mention apparation. Frankly, Harry hasn't ever really enjoyed magical travel.

Harry feels Hermione squeeze his hand gently and he turns to her with a small smile of reassurance. He's not surprised when she turns back to Dorea and Charlus with questions about the car.

"I admit it's an indulgence," Charlus beams at Hermione, "but I wasn't able to resist."

"He's absolutely crazy about cars," Dorea says in a tone which feels like she's imparting a confidence but she's smiling and amused, "we have several."

"I've only ever seen one magical automobile before," Hermione says with a touch of wistfulness, "apart from the Knight bus."

Harry knows she's thinking of the Weasley's flying car.

"They've been popular here for a while," Charlus confides. "We saw the advantages immediately when the muggles created them." He turns to Sirius. "I understand from Archie that you have quite the collection yourself, Sirius."

"Motorbikes rather than cars," Sirius agrees, "but we have a few."

Harry thinks of the flying motorbike his Sirius owned and he's not surprised when Hermione squeezes his hand again.

"Do you drive?" asks Charlus eagerly.

"I have my driving licence, but I was saving up for a car," Hermione says, "it wasn't really a priority."

Harry shakes his head. He'd never seen the point of learning. "I cycle."

"Healthy," Dorea says approvingly. "Cycling is a good form of exercise."

"Harry prefers flying really," Hermione smiles at him indulgently, "but cycling's about as close as he can get when we're in the muggle world."

"You say you were brought up there, Harry?" Dorea asks, her tone bright with curiosity.

"Yes, with my mother's family," Harry keeps his tone light.

Charlus hums thoughtfully. "We should probably talk about your mother. Dorea reminded me this morning that it's possible that she has also noticed your arrival but simply lacks the means to track you."

Harry freezes at the thought. He hasn't asked about his mother – has tried hard not to think about her since it's clear she and James are not together. His mouth is dry and he swallows hard. He finds his fingers tightening on Hermione's. "I'm not sure…if I say who she is I think I might compromise the timeline?"

Charlus nods. "We may have to take that chance but there's no hurry. Let's get you settled first and then we can think on it."

Harry notes how Charlus uses 'we' rather than 'you.' It's strange to think that his family is invested in seeing to his welfare.

"So," Dorea says tactfully changing the subject, "we have a rough plan but we wanted to get your input, of course." She produces a piece of parchment and hands it over to Hermione.

Harry wonders if he should feel insulted by how she's quite clearly worked out who is in charge of their plans out of the two of them.

Hermione hums under her breath. "We're to see Healer Albright today?"

"Ariana is wonderful as is Poppy, but I think we'd be happier if our own family healer examined you," Dorea says. "We want to make sure you're both recovered and getting the best treatment possible."

Harry bites his lip. He'd rather they didn't see the healer but he guesses it isn't optional. He also knows that it's probably best they get a second opinion. The healer who'd seen him after the war had been ready to report Poppy for missing his obvious childhood issues.

"But today is really about getting you settled at Potter House," Dorea's gaze darts to Sirius, "all of you."

"I'm looking forward to seeing your home," says Sirius politely. "Potter House has quite a reputation."

"Not as much of a reputation as some of the Black properties," Charlus chimes in, "but it's home."

Dorea must be able to sense Hermione's curiosity because she turns to her with a smile. "Potter House is located in Caerfyrddin in Wales."

"Isn't that meant to be one of the possible locations for Merlin's birth?" asks Hermione excitedly.

Dorea beams at her in approval. "Yes, indeed. There is a set of caves just beyond the town which are said to be his birthplace."

"The first Earl of Gryffindor was Sir Cai of Caerfyrddin," Sirius informs Harry, "and it's said Arthur was raised with Cai and his father Hector in Caerfyrddin."

"You know your history," Charlus says brightly. "We're indeed descended from Cai and it is true that Arthur was fostered by Hector for a time at Merlin's request."

"How far is it to Godric's Hollow?" asks Hermione, clearly wondering as Harry is about the relationship between the two places.

"Not far," Dorea answers, "Godric's Hollow is actually one of the small villages close to Potter Hall."

"We're on the outskirts of Caerfyrddin, and a small contributory stream to the Towy runs through the Estate," Charlus says. "Godric's Hollow is on the other side of the stream, adjacent to our land. The Dowager cottage is there."

"Charlus's mother used to live there, but she passed away many years ago now," Dorea tells them.

Harry wonders what happened to the Potter Hall in his world, if there even was one. He shrugs the thought away and tunes into Hermione asking another question about the plan. The discussion about the busy week ahead takes up the rest of the journey, but before no time at all, Parker pulls off the main roads and into a country lane.

Harry shivers as they travel through wards heavy with the Gryffindor magic. He can feel the family magic in a way he hasn't yet understood; there's warmth in the magic, a sense of welcome but more than that, legacy. He feels its weight and its duty. Hermione's fingers tighten on his.

Charlus's eyes narrow on him but he doesn't say anything. The driveway isn't as long as Harry fears and they pull up in front of what seems to be a modest country estate for all that the property and grounds are large. The house captures the attention though as Harry steps out of the car.

The grey stone walls are rough and imposing reaching into the pale grey sky of the winter morning. There are clear sections; the central hub in front of them with the tall wooden front door, two squarish sections either side with end sections beyond them. The right end is more of an octangular shape whereas the left is a round tower which ascends a floor above the rest of the two-storey property. The windows are wide rectangles but divided into grids of smaller panes of glass.

Harry swallows and dimly realises he can hear Sirius praising the house to Charlus, the crunch of steps on the gravel of the driveway. Hermione gently nudges him. He turns to her and she smiles reassuringly at him as he slides his hand back into hers.

Sirius comes to stand beside Harry on his other side, an understanding look simmering in his grey eyes. "It's something, isn't it?"

Harry nods.

Charlus clears his throat and Harry's gaze moves to the Earl, standing on the shallow steps leading to the front door with Dorea beside him, her arm tucked in his.

Charlus smiles and his eyes hold Harry's intently. "Welcome home."


	12. Family Legacies

Harry wakes with a gasp.

It takes a moment of blinking blindly up at the ceiling for Harry to remember where he is. The family magic is heavy around him, like a comforting blanket. He lets it warm him and wash away the remnants of his nightmare – of his memory of walking to his death.

He shivers despite the warmth and Hermione makes a sleepy murmur beside him. Harry turns his head and watches her sleep for a long moment.

She's curled up on her side of the large bed they are sharing. They'd both been matter-of-fact about the sleeping arrangements when they'd been shown to the beautiful suite of rooms they've been given.

The suite is bigger than Harry's flat back home. There's a small living area with its own balcony; a study sits off the living area lined with bookcases filled to the brim. There's another informal den room with a television; cosy and warm with bean bags as well as a comfy sofa. They have a large bathroom just off the bedroom and a giant closet-dressing room which more than houses their small collection of clothes. He's not even sure the planned shopping trip the following day will be enough to fill it anytime soon.

The bedroom itself is comfortable; a large bed, in-built shelves to either side which act as bedside tables. There's another sofa with a coffee table across from the bed. To the right there is a loveseat under a wide window. A dresser fills one wall across the room from the window.

Harry breathes in as his nightmare fades and the reality of where he is sinks in. The room isn't in complete darkness thanks to a mage light set into a small lamp on Hermione's side of the bed. He can see the stack of books she's currently working her way through taking up most of the space on her shelving.

He wonders whether he should be surprised they didn't freak out more about the sleeping arrangements, but he mentally shrugs the thought away. He and Hermione spent almost an entire year living in a tent together with no privacy to speak about.

She murmurs again and Harry considers his options. He could close his eyes and try to sleep again (he knows it's unlikely that he will; that he'll just toss and turn for a long while) or he could wander down to the kitchen and see if he could make himself some hot chocolate. In the end it's the thought that he doesn't want to disturb Hermione which decides him. He slides out of the bed and into his old flannel dressing gown, grabbing his glasses so he can see better. He shoves slippers on his feet and pads his way out of the suite and into the corridor.

The hallway is in darkness but moonlight floods in through the windows which line the far wall. There's enough light for Harry to see and he heads down the stairs. Some instinct guides him through to the large kitchen at the back of the ground floor.

He enters a little hesitantly and almost screams as a house elf pops in.

"What can Pobett be getting for young Master?" Pobett asks, his ears flapping wildly.

"Hot chocolate would be great," Harry says.

In no time at all, there's a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hands along with a large orange-cinnamon cookie. He thanks the house elf and makes his way out of the kitchen. He wanders until he gets to the library.

The heavy wooden doors open easily and Harry steps inside with a sigh. The vast room filled with shelf after shelf of books is as tall as it is wide. The mage lights which illuminate the room are dim and the shadows creep over every surface.

There is an upper balcony with more books and Harry makes his way up a black wrought iron spiral staircase to the top. He ambles aimlessly until he comes across a small inset alcove with a reading chair and a small coffee table set out in front of a fireplace. As soon as Harry sits down the fire comes to life and a steady flame flickers behind the wire fireguard.

Harry sips at his chocolate and stares up at the portrait above the mantel. It's an elderly wizard sat asleep behind a table with three boxes in front of him. Harry stares at the boxes and his heart begins to pound. The symbol for the Hallows is deconstructed and a part painted on every single one of the boxes. The wizard within the picture stirs, awakening from their sleep. Harry sets his chocolate down nervously, as the wizard blinks owlishly and his sharp hazel gaze settles on Harry.

"Well met, Master of the Hallows," says the wizard.

Harry swallows hard. "You're Ignotus Peverell."

"I am," Ignotus inclines his head a touch. "I have been waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" asks Harry, frowning. He doesn't like the sound of that.

Ignotus waves his hand at the boxes. "My brothers and I secured the Hallows for one who would unite them."

Yep, Harry muses, he really doesn't like the sound of that.

"What makes you so sure that I'm the right person?" asks Harry suspiciously.

Ignotus peers out at him, eyes bright in contrast with curiosity. "The family magic, of course." He tilts his head. "You seem unaware of its power, but how can that be?"

"I'm not from this world," says Harry simply.

Ignotus' painted eyebrows shoot up. "How astonishing!" His expression smoothed. "But it does explain why you are an adult and not a child as I expected."

"You know in my world there's a story that Death gave you the Hallows," says Harry, curious to know the real story.

Ignotus smiles. "I doubt Mistress Death would grant such a boon," he says, "and the Hallows are all of our own making."

"You invented them?" asks Harry, intrigued.

"Of course," Ignotus proclaims as though it was obvious, "my brothers and I were inventors." His eyes grew distant as though he was remembering far into the past. "The Hallows were our greatest creation, born out of necessity to take down the evil conclave of Callum Cauldra." He pauses. "We each created an artefact built on our strengths. Antioch was fierce with a wand and he created a wand unlimited by a core, a wand of pure magic bound into an immortal wood." A long bony painted finger lands on the first box. "Cadmus could speak and raise the dead, and so he imbued his talent into a polished river stone to allow he who held it to raise an army of ghosts." There is a tap on the middle box. "And I…I created a cloak of invisibility; the ability to move without being seen or noticed."

"You defeated the conclave," Harry surmises, ignoring the shiver that snakes down his spine.

"Yes," Ignotus nods, "but not without cost. Antioch fell first. He was always at the front, leading the charge. Then Cadmus, because the dead cannot be among the living without using magical energy from somewhere. Only I remained at the end of the battle."

"But you had all the Hallows," Harry realises.

Ignotus nods. "They were too powerful to let loose in the world. We made sure if we fell, our artefacts would immediately go to the nearest Peverell." He looks over at Harry. "He who holds them is not the Master of Death, but rather a raven sent by her hand." He sighs. "It was not a sadness to lock them away as we had promised on our family magic to do after the war."

Harry looks carefully at Ignotus and the three boxes. "They're in the painting."

"Yes, and only a Peverell can retrieve them," Ignotus confirms, "only a Peverell who does not want them; who understands and knows their power. Only a Peverell who has need of them to save the world from evil."

Harry shivers again.

"You do not hold the Hallows of your world still," murmurs Ignotus.

"Only one," Harry admits. The cloak is his legacy and he treasures it. "They were scattered on my world originally. I think it's better that they remain that way." He wonders if his ancestors hadn't taken the precaution the Peverells of this world had. Or maybe they had and it hadn't been enough.

"How did you find them?" asks Ignotus.

"I didn't," denies Harry, pushing a hand through his hair, "not really. I inherited the cloak from my father, the stone from…from a wizard who wanted me to have its power." He still wasn't sure whether Dumbledore had meant for Harry to simply use the stone to comfort himself on a walk to his death or to use it some other way. The remnant of his nightmare chills him again. "The wand…well, that was just some weird freaky luck."

Ignotus tilts his head in what Harry is coming to see is a habitual movement. "The wand was always yours, is always yours. You are a Peverell. You are its true Master."

"Maybe," Harry concedes. He lifts the cup of hot chocolate and takes a sip.

Ignotus suddenly looks to the side. "Descendent, you may approach."

Harry's eyebrows shoot up and he rises from the chair hurriedly as Charlus steps into view.

"My apologies, Harry," Charlus says softly as he glances towards the portrait, "Ancestor." His tone is filled with wonder. "You are awake."

"I have woken when I was meant to wake," Ignotus says calmly. His painted gaze returns to Harry. "You will be Lord Peverell and you will return when you have need of your legacy."

Harry nods slowly.

"Then I shall sleep once more until that time," says Ignotus. He closes his eyes and within seconds he's asleep.

"My apologies, Harry, again," Charlus offers quietly, "I didn't mean to interrupt your talk."

Harry shrugs awkwardly. "It's fine."

Charlus seems to hesitate a moment but he seems to make a decision because his lips firm. "I realise you're not used to the family magic but I…I sensed your earlier upset and thought I'd check to make sure you were alright."

Harry's mortified. Charlus gets notified if he's had a nightmare?! "I'm sorry," he blurts out, thinking of Petunia's disdain for his night terrors; Vernon's anger.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Charlus states seriously, "we all have nightmares, Harry. I just wish I could ease yours."

"I should get back to bed," says Harry, unsure what to say.

Charlus nods and Harry follows him down the staircase and back along to the staircase which will take Harry up to his guest suite.

Harry sighs heavily as he enters the bedroom. Hermione is still fast asleep, at least. She's curled up on her side, her hair a sprawl of tendrils over the pillow. He sets what is left of his chocolate down, tosses his robe on the end of the bed as he slides out of his slippers, and climbs back under the covers.

Hermione murmurs his name sleepily and he hushes her enough she settles back as though undisturbed.

Harry frowns and stares at the ceiling. He doesn't know what disturbs him more – that Charlus will know when Harry has a nightmare or the fact that a portrait which had been asleep for years had woken up because of Harry.

He shivers and huddles under the covers. He'll talk about it with Hermione in the morning.

There's no time to talk in the morning.

Before Harry knows it, he's hustled out of bed by a determined elf, through his ablutions and downstairs to breakfast where Hermione is already in deep discussion with Regina about arithmancy. The table is filled with family; James and Sirius sit on one side of the table with Regina; Harry sits down between Hermione and Arcturus; Charlus and Dorea take either end of the table.

Harry sighs, helps himself to porridge and listens in as the debate about whether the formula they've isolated in the crystal ball spell has a time delay or not. Harry thinks not; there's not enough temporal equations to suggest a delay. He feels slightly smug when Sirius states the same and Hermione concedes.

"So, shopping!" Regina says brightly, changing the subject as breakfast draws to a close.

Hermione nods. "You mentioned we weren't going to go to Diagon Alley?"

Harry sips on his morning cup of coffee. He's happy that they're avoiding the wizarding part of London.

"We'll take the magical Eurostar to Paris," says James confidently. "It's brilliant."

"It is a remarkable feat of magic," agrees Sirius, "and Paris is best for the type of tailoring you'll both need for your wardrobes."

Arcturus pats his mouth with his linen napkin. "Try not to drown the pair in too many outfits."

Regina's grey eyes twinkly mischievously. "No promises, Grandfather."

Sirius's affectionate glance at his sister warms something in Harry. It's comforting to know Sirius has family; has the love of his family.

"Quite right," Dorea says, "we have a whole wardrobe which needs to be bought." She waves her hand at the teapot and it pours her another cup of tea. "We'll leave you boys to your politicking."

Harry raised his eyebrow questioningly.

"Now that we've informed the Minister and Chief Witch, we're telling the rest of our alliances today," Charlus informs him briskly, "we want to make sure we don't surprise them at the Wizengamot."

Harry nods; it makes sense to make their allies happy by keeping them in the loop.

Arcturus clears his throat. "We'll be sharing the bare bones of what has happened and the plan to provide you with your titles."

"Luckily, we get out of it," James says cheerfully, "and talking of which, we should make tracks."

Harry lets James hustle them away from the table. There's a flurry of getting ready and in short order they're grasping a rope portkey to take them to the London terminal of the Eurostar. Harry sits back, content to let Hermione grill the others on the train and its magical origins. He's not surprised though when she draws him to one side as they make their way out of the Paris station and asks if he's OK.

Harry shrugs. "Just tired."

"You didn't sleep well," Hermione notes, her eyes shining with concern.

Harry shrugs again. "I'll be fine."

She loops an arm around his and clasps his hand tightly. He's warmed by the visible comfort and caring. He squeezes her hand to let her know he appreciates it.

They spend an hour sight-seeing before they end up in a private boutique near to the Eiffel Tower. Dorea and Regina head to the door on the left with the outline of a feminine figure etched in gold, and Harry finds himself firmly led into the door on the right which has a masculine figure in the same gold etching.

"Ah, Viscount Potter," the small Frenchman who hurries over to greet them blinks rapidly, "and Baron Blackthorn. How unexpected to see you both here together."

"Our families have agreed a rapprochement," James replies smoothly, "and we have a new member of the family whom we share – Eduard, meet Harry James Potter; he'll soon be confirmed as Lord Peverell, Baron of Ravenshold."

"Incredible!" Eduard blinks again but he leads them briskly through the main shop and into a private room at the back.

Harry finds himself stripped to his boxers and measured ruthlessly before he can offer any kind of protest.

"He'll need a whole wardrobe," Sirius informs the tailor briskly, "formal and informal."

"Magical and non-magical," adds James brightly.

Eduard nods. "Colours?"

Sirius regards Harry with an assessing eye. "Do you have any preferences?"

"Nothing too loud," Harry states, finding his voice as his clothes are magicked back on his body.

"Yeah, nix patterns beyond a good pinstripe," says James.

"Shades of green would work well for him," Sirius says.

"And confer with your lovely wife, Eduard, as he'll need to coordinate some of the formal wear with his wife's dresses," James concludes.

Eduard nods. "Leave all with me." He waves his wand towards the seating area, and the small table fills with a coffeepot and some pastries. "Please. Sit. I will return."

Harry ends up in the centre armchair between James and Sirius. He's not sure if it's intentional or if it's just a sign of the newness of the cordiality between the two of them. James pours everyone a coffee and Harry also takes one of the flaky croissants. Breakfast feels like a while ago and his stomach is growling. He's amused to note that he's not the only one reaching gratefully for the food. Finally, they all settle back in the comfortable armchairs with a shared sigh of contentment.

"How long do you think the ladies will be?" asks James, licking the last flaky crumbs from his thumb.

"A while knowing my sister," remarks Sirius dryly. His grey silvery eyes glance over at Harry. "You're looking better for some food."

"I feel better," Harry admits and takes another sip of coffee.

Both of them look at him with enough empathy that Harry sighs.

"You know about my nightmares too?" asks Harry sharply, uncomfortable with the idea he's disturbing the entire family.

Sirius shares a quick look at James and they nod in unison.

"I'm sorry," Harry begins.

"No," Sirius cuts in, "there's no need. The family magic is there to let us know so we can help in whatever way we can."

James nods. "I know you're not used to it, but to us it's as natural as breathing to know how our family members are doing."

Harry blows out a breath. It feels really invasive to him to have other people know when he hurts.

"I think Dad's going to give you a crash course on the family magic soon," James continues, "you're pretty entrenched in it already so it's likely that you'll start to feel warning signs about us."

Harry's not sure how he feels about  _that_. Although…he wouldn't mind knowing when Hermione is in danger.

"There are tricks to muting everything without losing the ability to be warned if something is seriously wrong," Sirius adds.

"Like setting a smoke alarm," James says, "ignore if there a little smoke but if there's a lot, beep like hell so we can see if there's a fire."

Harry nods; that makes sense. "So, your Dad…" he begins with a frown.

"Has you on all-time monitoring at the moment," admits James. He shrugs. "You're a bit of an unknown quantity. He wants to know you're OK."

"I suspect my grandfather is the same," Sirius says, "and I've been tempted myself. You…you're hurting and our magic wants to help."

"To be honest, I'm surprised your maternal line hasn't shown up," James comments. "Unless…" there's a considering look in his eye as he meets Harry's questioning gaze, "is your mother a first generation magical?"

"Yes," Harry says. "Does that mean she won't realise?"

"Possibly," James says, "she may not understand the tug on her magic." He grins. "Also good to know that your mother is alive right now."

Harry stares at him for a moment before giving a reluctant laugh.

James lets his grin fade. "You know, I understand why you're hesitant about saying anything about the future or your universe in detail – and I guess, you're right in some ways that to tell us would change things. But I want you to consider that maybe that would be a good thing."

"You want me to tell you about the war," Harry says.

"There's trouble brewing," James says quietly, "and if you can help avert it or minimise the impact of it…isn't that worth it?"

Sirius clears his throat. "You also have to consider that you've already altered things by virtue of being here."

Harry sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. "I'll talk it through with Hermione."

James and Sirius exchange a satisfied look. Before they can say anything else Eduard bustles back in and Harry is cajoled into trying on outfits.

It's mid-afternoon when the portkey deposits them back in the hallway of Potter House. Harry's tired but in a good way. They'd ended up having lunch in a Parisian restaurant near to Notre Dame and taking a boat trip on the Seine. It's been good to spend time with James and Sirius; he's starting to like both men for themselves and not just for the treasured thoughts and memories he has of his own universe's versions.

Hermione is laughing along with Regina, and Harry's pleased for Hermione; for the burgeoning friendship he can already see between the two women.

There's a noise to his left and he's not surprised to see Charlus and Arcturus emerge from the study to greet them.

"You clearly had a good day," Charlus comments as he greets Dorea with a kiss on the cheek and a hug. Harry wonders at the slight edge of tension in his frame.

"Paris is beautiful," Dorea says, "and our two newest family members are fully outfitted. Eduard and Marie did a beautiful job."

Harry is still bewildered at just how many clothes he now owns. He suspects that they might even fill the closet.

"They are the best," Arcturus says. He glances over at Sirius.

"Reggie restricted herself to four outfits," Sirius says dryly.

Regina slaps him lightly on the arm. "Three!" She sniffs. "Although the pants and the top could be combined to make a fourth."

"Well, I'm pleased to have you all back," Charlus turns to Harry, "there's been a development which you should know about, Harry, it's…"

"Harry."

The sound of his name in a woman's voice cuts across Charlus and Harry blinks in confusion.

He knows that voice…he's heard that voice in a forest before walking to his death, in a half-remembered memory as she begs for his life when Dementors get too close…his head snaps towards the study.

Lily Evans stands in the open doorway. She's heartbreakingly beautiful and Harry's breath catches in his throat.

He feels Hermione move closer as his magic begins to tremble and churn beneath his skin. He clutches at Hermione's hand and she holds it tightly.

"Miss Evans," Charlus says tersely, "I asked you to remain in the study."

"He's my son, and you have no right to keep him from me," Lily replies. Her eyes don't leave Harry's. "You're my son. I know it." She lays a hand on her heart. "I can feel you."

Harry can't say anything. He drinks in the sight of her but can't seem to move. He knows she isn't his mother, but she looks and sounds just like his memories…his heart hurts so much…

Lily takes a step toward him and instinctively Harry takes a step back. James and Sirius both take a step to put themselves between Harry and Lily even as the others begin to move to defend him.

"No, it's…" Harry tries to wave them off; he doesn't want her hurt or turned away or…she's his mother. But she isn't. The copper bracelet heats up, trying to contain his rolling magic.

"Go!" Hermione says quietly. "Go. I'll deal with this."

And Harry goes.

He turns and apparates out of the House. He doesn't go far. He stays in the grounds. He just needed to get out of the house; to get some air; to get away for a moment and catch his breath.

Lily.

He takes his broom out of the trunk he still carries and resizes it. He takes to the air.

He can't believe he hadn't truly thought about seeing her again. He's been so caught up with having grandparents and seeing James, seeing  _Sirius_.

Flying calms his magic. It always has done. He flies for a long while; his mind and magic slowly gentling.

He wants to see her.

He wants to talk with her.

James and Sirius are wonderful; funny and smart and good men. He knows they're not the same as his father and godfather but he can see similarities; he can see the core of who they are which is shared across the universes. He wants the same with his…with Lily.

He worries that his reaction will have offended her; hurt her. He knows though that Hermione will have explained and will know what Harry wants. He hopes Lily listened to her and…

James is waiting for him as he crosses the boundary between Potter House and the Welsh countryside. Harry slows to enable them to fly back together side by side at a reasonable speed which allows for talking.

"You know I can't quite believe I didn't work it out," James says breaking the silence. "You have her eyes and I spent the better part of my teenage years looking at her."

"Is she…?" asks Harry hesitantly.

"Your wife convinced everyone it was better for Lily to stay until you came back," James confirms. He looks over at Harry with sombre eyes. "She told us a little about how your parents died. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Harry grimaces. "My parents gave their lives to save mine."

"I can't imagine it," James admits, "I mean…I can imagine it; wanting to save the life of my child, but it's…abstract, except it's not because there's you." He sighs and glances over again. "I'd already figured from what you let slip about the time difference between our universes that I was either your father or your older brother."

Harry smiles sadly. "You're not my father."

"Maybe not  _here_ ," James says, "but I know I'd expect another version of me to step up if my kid ever ended up in a different universe so…"

He stops and Harry stops too. They hover in the crisp air.

James' look is intent and serious. "I'm not suggesting I take your Dad's place, I doubt anyone can do that, and your Hermione made it pretty clear to all of us that we're not the same people. She also suggested, and I agree with her, that we should consider ourselves like twins to your family, same genetics but different lives."

Harry wonders exactly what Hermione has said while he's been flying.

"So, I'd like to be there for you; to be part of your life as an honorary father type person - for as long as you're here," James continues. He smiles suddenly, mischievous and bright. "Maybe a favourite uncle? I mean, if I'm like your Dad's twin that would make me your uncle, right?"

Harry can't help but smile. He genuinely likes James.

"Yeah," Harry says, "I guess that would make you like my uncle."

James pulls a face. "And now I feel old." He laughs. "How about a favourite older cousin?"

Harry smiles again and nods. Cousin. That feels…right.

They set off again, slower but steady.

"So," James says, "Lily Evans. How did I…I mean, your Dad, how did he manage to convince her he could court her?"

Harry notes the slightly old-fashioned term. "A few things if the stories my godfather told me were right," he replies, "but mainly I think he grew up enough that she changed her mind about him. Then they were head boy and girl so spent time together and…" he shrugs.

"Huh," James says, "Black and Evans were head boy and girl."

Harry nods. It makes sense given everything he's heard about their school days. "My parents married straight out of school. There was the war and my godfather said they didn't want to wait."

"I can't imagine they would," murmurs James. He sighs. "There won't be a Harry James Potter here, will there? It's already too late."

"Sirius mentioned his cousin Narcissa is pregnant," Harry frowns, "if that's true, it's probably her son, Draco. He was the same age as me. Hermione's likely already born." He glances over at James. "Is…are the Longbottoms expecting a baby?"

"Yes," confirms James.

"Neville," sighs Harry. He wonders if Neville will be the focus of the prophecy in the future. If there will be a prophecy…

"I feel I should apologise for not getting together to with Lily and making your counterpart but…" James gives an easy grin, "I'm thinking you probably have enough weirdness without finding a mini-you."

Harry grimaces at the idea. It's bad enough having to face alternative versions of his father and mother; of Sirius. He doesn't know how he'd feel having to face himself.

The back of the house looms ahead of them and James leads the way back. They both angle the brooms downward, landing on the flagstones outside the back entrance which leads to a mudroom. When they exit, they're in a small corridor. Noise from the kitchen emerges from the left but James turns right and within seconds they're back in the main entrance hallway.

Harry frowns. Magic houses drive him nuts, he thinks tiredly. Nothing makes sense about them.

Hermione slips out of the study before James can get to the door. She nods at James, but her eyes are on Harry.

Harry reaches out to her.

Hermione immediately takes his hand and moves easily to hug him tightly. "Are you OK?" she says softly.

"Yeah, I just…" Harry sighs into her hair, "I wasn't prepared to see her."

Hermione hums. She hugs him tighter for a second before easing back and examining his face intently. "It's going to be OK. She's…she's really nice, Harry; smart. She was just…I think your own mother's sacrifice amped up what Lily has felt in her family magic."

"Right," Harry says, because that does make some kind of sense. His blood carries his mother's sacrifice. It's a thought which comforts him; a reminder of just how much he was loved.

Hermione squeezes his hand as though she knows the thoughts running through his head.

Harry pushes a hand through his messy hair and looks around for James. He's gone. Harry doesn't know if he's slipped into the study or away. Probably into the study. Either way, Harry's a little grateful to have a moment of privacy with Hermione. They haven't had any all day.

"James said you told them all to consider themselves like twins to our universe?" Harry checks.

"Yes," Hermione nods briskly, "I think that's best, don't you? It was the only thing I could think of to try and make it less…"

"Weird?" suggests Harry.

Hermione's eyes brighten with amusement. "Weird works."

"The whole twin thing works," Harry admits, letting his relief creep into his voice, "James said to consider him an uncle or really given the age difference, a cousin."

She smiles, clearly pleased and squeezes his hand again. "Ready?"

Harry takes a deep breath. He's going to meet Lily. Not his mother, not the woman who sacrificed herself to save him, but a beautiful and strong-willed woman who is also family, if a universe removed. He glances at Hermione and finds her beside him, steadfast as always. He squeezes her hand back. He takes another deep breath and his magic settles beneath his skin once more.

"Ready."


	13. Magical Relationships

“Gin!” Alice Longbottom declares happily.

“You’re a hustler, Longbottom,” comments James, throwing his cards down in disgust.

“You have no poker face,” Alice retorts, elbowing Lily beside her.  “Back me up here, Lils.”

Harry smiles at the interplay between them all, amused at the teasing and banter the group had fallen into since the awkward beginning a few days before. 

Meeting with Lily after his initial meltdown had been hard and he’d never been more grateful that Hermione had been with him, her hand in his. His chaotic magic had swirled under his skin, but between Hermione and his bracelet it had remained contained.  Thankfully, his newfound family had been understanding including Lily herself.

Lily looks over as though she’s noticed his regard and winks.

Harry smiles back at her.

She’s fiercely intelligent and passionate in her views; brutally honest and obstinate; beautiful.  She’s also kind-hearted and warm; she’s witty with a keen sense of humour.  Lily Evans is everything he ever imagined Lily Potter to ever be and more.

Of course, the sacrifice of his own mother has seemingly complicated Lily’s feel of Harry within her newly burgeoning family magic.   She’s drawn to him.  She’d been with her parents for Christmas and had been driven into a coma from the magical shock of Harry’s arrival.  It had only been when her parents had been able to make contact with Professor Dumbledore through a letter that he had hurried into the muggle world to retrieve her from the hospital and get her magical treatment.  Once awake, Dumbledore had told her about Harry and, well, she’d immediately tracked him down. 

Unfortunately, her magic still sought Harry’s presence; it had physically hurt her when she had tried to take her leave.  Charlus had been kind enough to extend an invitation for her to stay, additionally inviting the Longbottoms to provide familiar company for Lily and to act as an apparently needed chaperone given Lily’s single status.

Harry knows both he and Hermione have been thrilled to get know the Longbottom couple.  Frank and Alice are friendly and kind; they can see hints of Neville in both of them.  They miss Neville.  They miss all their friends and it’s beginning to dawn on them both that they won’t see them again for years. 

It’s been weird to see Lily and James tentatively moving past their initial frostiness into something resembling a nascent friendship.  It had helped that James had offered an apology for his school-boy pranking and bullying almost immediately; that he had accepted he had perhaps gone too far at times, especially in the Mischief Makers’ treatment of Severus Snape.

Harry finds it too incredibly weird that Snape and Lily are still friends.  Just friends, because Hermione had delicately enquired about it even though Harry had shied away from the question.  Apparently, Lily had gone out on a single date with Snape in their fourth year where they had kissed and realised immediately that they were more like brother and sister.  Harry is still slightly horrified that he has the image of Lily kissing Snape in his head. 

Luckily, Snape is out of the country gathering rare potions ingredients and won’t return until after Hogwarts is back in session.  Lily has openly lamented that Harry may not meet him until the first Hogsmeade weekend since the Professors are discouraged from inviting personal visitors during term time and the school week.  Harry is content to wait.  He’s just beginning to get used to his family without adding more ghosts into the mix.

Lily’s reaction to him may make their choice of profession limited given that her magic seeks Harry constantly.  They may end up having to return to Hogwarts where Lily works to ensure she isn’t in pain.  Dorea and Regina, with the support of Charlus and Arcturus, are trying to determine exactly why the family magic is responding so fiercely, but neither Harry nor Hermione can give them much to go on except his own mother’s sacrifice left him with a powerful protection against Voldemort.

Harry has also started lessons with both men as his own ease with the family magic has begun to awaken the ability to sense the rest of the family.  He’s already started to feel when his family are in the house and when they are elsewhere.  Right at that moment, he feels the presence of James, just like he feels the absence of Arcturus, Dorea and Charlus who are attending a ball.  Frank had also taken his mother to allow Alice to remain as a chaperone for Lily.

Harry glances at the clock.  It won’t be long before its midnight and the turn of the year.

Hermione leans into him, giggling a little as Lily jibes with James.  Harry accepts the soft weight of her against his shoulder.  He frowns as there is a tug on his magic, a warning about the wards. 

James smiles suddenly and leaps to his feet.  “It looks like Remus decided to join us, after all.”

“Good,” Alice says brightly, “he has a worse poker face than you.”

James maturely sticks his tongue out at her and hurries from the room.  Harry is glad for him.  He knows James was disappointed when none of the Mischief Makers were free to attend the New Year gathering.  Peter and Albert had apparently been co-opted for another surveillance mission by Moody, and Remus had made excuses.  Harry assumes the werewolf felt awkward about the presence of Sirius given the history.

“Come on, Sirius,” Alice states firmly, “you should play the next hand.”

“I know better than to play with you,” Sirius argues, “James was right; you’re a hustler.”

“Well,” Lily says teasingly, “there’s something I never thought I’d see; you agreeing with James Potter.”

Sirius simply smiles back at her, a touch enigmatically.

“Darn,” Alice says, frowning, “I need the loo again.” 

Lily gives a half-hearted groan, although her expression remains amused.  “Do you have to announce it to the room, Alice?”

Alice grins at her and darts out.

“I didn’t think the constant loo thing happened until much later into pregnancy,” Regina comments. 

Sirius sighs heavily.  “Can we not talk about you and pregnancy?”

Regina grins at him.  “Don’t worry, Siri, I know ten contraceptive charms.”

“Ten,” murmurs Lily, “I’m only aware of six.”

Hermione clears her throat.  “I know eight.”

Sirius and Harry exchange the same look of consternation and bemusement at the topic of conversation. 

“Maybe we should check on James,” Sirius suggests.

Harry nods, trying not to look frantic in his agreement.  “Good idea.”

Hermione shoots him a fond look of exasperation, but she lets go of him as he gets to his feet and sends him on his way with a smile.  The women are starting to exchange notes on contraceptive charms as Sirius closes the door on them.

Sirius stops them before they’ve taken more than a step.  “Do you feel that?”

“What?” asks Harry, uncertain.

“Take a deep breath and focus on your inner sense of James,” Sirius instructs.

Harry follows Sirius’s instructions and frowns.  James is upset; angry.  “What do…”

They both freeze at the sound of footsteps hurrying towards them.  A second later Remus appears in the hallway and comes to a halt at the sight of them. 

Harry takes a moment to catalogue the differences between his Moony and the version stood before him. 

He’s younger, so much younger. 

His features aren’t so scarred from the werewolf transformations; he looks handsome in a windswept, upper-class English aristocratic way with his light brown almost blond hair and brown eyes.  His clothes look good quality; the dragonhide trousers and sturdy leather boots peek out from under the heavy woollen outdoor robe.

“Black, I mean, Baron Blackthorn,” Remus stutters out.  His brown eyes flash to Harry and widen.  “You must be Harry, James has mentioned you.”

“His current title is Lord Potter-Black,” Sirius corrects in an even tone.

Remus flushes red but he nods.  “Of course, forgive my presumption, Lord Potter-Black.”

Harry smiles awkwardly.  “That’s alright.” He waves at Remus.  “You’re not staying? I know James was looking forward to having your company.”

“No,” Remus replies, “I just wanted to let him know I’ll be out of the country for a while.”  He shifts to look fully at Sirius.  “I owe you an apology, Baron Blackthorn.  I regret any harm my silence about the events between us may have caused to you and your family.”

Sirius nods.  “Thank you; I accept your apology.”

Remus looks disconcerted at the swift reply.  He looks back up the corridor a moment before squaring his shoulders and facing them again.  “Well, I must take my leave.”

“Of course,” Sirius says, “safe journey.”

Remus bows his head and quickly walks away, heading to the front door which opens as he nears and shuts once he is clear of the threshold.

Harry frowns. 

Sirius looks at him questioningly. 

“Just…we should probably check on James,” Harry says, unwillingly to talk about how odd he found the stilted interaction between the two men.  He can’t help but think back to the friendship Moony and Padfoot had enjoyed; it had been a solace to both men once they’d reunited.

Sirius cocks his head as though he knows there is more than Harry is saying but he doesn’t push and instead leads Harry down the corridor towards James’s study.

The door is ajar and Sirius taps lightly against it before pushing it open enough for them to see James, sitting on a leather sofa with his head in his hands.  The Potter heir looks up and waves them inside.  Sirius closes the door behind them as they make their way over to the small sitting area.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb your evening,” James says, despondently.

“You’re saving us from a discussion on contraceptive charms,” Sirius replies dryly, “I think we’ll live.” He sits down in the chair beside the sofa. 

Harry takes the seat next to James.  “Remus mentioned he was going abroad?”

“Dumbledore’s sending him on a mission to the packs,” James shakes his head and slumps back.  “It’s a losing game, Remus even knows it.  The packs don’t trust him.  He’s a lone wolf who is still more invested in his parents and friends than in joining them.  They know his politics don’t include recognition for the packs in any formal way.  It’s a fool’s errand!”

“The Headmaster must believe there is some value,” murmurs Sirius as Harry struggles for a reply.

James grimaces.  “Sometimes Dumbledore takes too much advantage of the fact that he sponsored Remus’s education at Hogwarts, as though he doesn’t have a duty to teach children.  Remus feels far too beholden to him for just giving him the opportunity.”

Sirius hums.

James points at him.  “Stop being such a Black about this.  You agree with me.”

“I do,” Sirius concedes, “the Headmaster regularly takes advantage of former students to perform errands or find out information.”  He shrugs.  “He’s not as obvious about it as old Slughorn used to be but he cultivates relationships which increase his power or are useful to him.”

James sighs heavily.  “I just…I worry he’s going to get Remus hurt one of these days.”

“A justifiable worry,” Sirius says, “I don’t believe the Headmaster worries too much about the consequences of what he asks others to do at times.”

James nods slowly, a contemplative look stealing across his expression.  “You don’t trust him very much, do you?”

“I admire his accomplishments greatly,” Sirius counters, “but in respect of having the best interests of others at heart?  I believe Albus Dumbledore thinks he knows best for everyone and that is never a good thing when he has magical and political power to follow through on his thoughts.”

James nods again.  He turns to Harry.  “You’re suspiciously quiet.”

Harry shrugs.  “I had a complicated relationship with the Dumbledore in my world.  He did great things, but he also manipulated events and people to bend to his view of what was needed for the greater good.  I think we won the war despite his machinations in the end rather than because his grand plan came to fruition.  I have a lot of unresolved anger towards my Dumbledore, so it makes viewing yours with any kind of objectivity a bit difficult.”

“That sounds a lot like Hermione,” James teases.

Harry smiles sheepishly.  “She may have some views about it.”

“Speaking of the ladies, we’d better get back before they come looking for us,” Sirius says.

James glances at the clock and nods.  “It’s almost midnight!”  He jumps up and hurries to the door, but he stops in front of it and turns back to them.  “Thanks,” he says, “for checking on me.”

Harry and Sirius follow him out and back to the living room.  The conversation thankfully has moved on and Harry sits beside Hermione and slides his hand into hers without thinking.  James sorts them all out with a glass of champagne – or juice for Alice – ready to toast the New Year.

The clock strikes midnight. 

Harry raises his glass and sips the bubbly wine as James wishes them all a Happy New Year.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, it’s the New Year,” Alice says forcefully, “go ahead and kiss your wife, Harry.  I’d be full on snogging Frank if he was here.”

Harry blushes but he turns to Hermione.  There’s a hint of pink in her cheeks, but her eyes are twinkling as she silently agrees with his questioning look if it is OK to kiss her.  He half-regrets that they’ve never practiced kissing before; that their first kiss will be in front of everyone.  But as they lean in and their lips meet, Harry forgets to regret anything. 

His whole being centres on Hermione; on the feel of her lips beneath his, the touch of her skin under his fingers as he cups her cheek with his free hand, the knowledge that her hand is fisted in his shirt, warmth creeping into his belly as the kiss deepens a touch.

Alice whoops in the background and brings them back to reality.

Hermione is blushing as they ease back, but she tangles her fingers with Harry’s.

Regina sighs wistfully.  “I’m so jealous.”

“I’m happily married and I’m jealous,” Alice laughs.

Lily smiles at them both.  “It’s lovely that you’re so in love.  I’m so glad you found each other.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“I can’t imagine my life without Harry in it,” Hermione says.

Harry squeezes her hand, grateful and touched by her words.  “I wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“OK,” James waves his hands dramatically, “enough with the newly-wed sappiness.”

“Jealous, Potter,” Lily teases.

James grins at her and puffs up a touch.  “Hey, I have plenty of ladies who’d be more than delighted to give me a kiss at the turn of a New Year.”

Lily sniffs, but her face is alight with humour.  “I find that unlikely.”

Everyone laughs at James’s faux outrage at the light jab.

“What about you, Sirius,” Lily asks, turning her attention to the other single male in the room, “are you jealous?”

“Not so much jealous,” Sirius says, “but hoping I get as lucky in finding someone to share my life with as Harry and Hermione have been to find each other.”

Harry ducks his head a little.  He feels a little ashamed at lying to them about the real state of his and Hermione’s relationship, but on the other hand…he doesn’t know what he would do without her.  He glances at her and finds her looking back at him, questions in her eyes which he thinks are reflected in his.

“Aw, that’s lovely,” Alice says, “you always do have a way with words, Sirius.”

Regina clears her throat.  “Does this mean…”

“No,” Sirius says firmly, “this does not mean you can start match-making me.”

James laughs, pulling Harry’s attention away from Hermione, and back to the wider gathering.

Alice sets her glass down and stands up.  “Well, I should be heading to bed.  We’ve got an early start to get to Blackthorn tomorrow.”

Her statement seems to galvanise all of them into goodnight wishes and they troop off to bed within minutes.

Harry waits until he and Hermione are behind closed doors.  He clears his throat, nervous suddenly.  “Hermione, about the kiss…”

Hermione pauses, half-way to the bathroom.  She’s in the middle of taking off her jewellery and she unclasps her earring and looks at him quizzically.

“I want to…” Harry begins before he stops and pushes a hand through his hair.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Hermione says quickly, “we knew we would have to kiss eventually, and we probably should have realised tonight would be…”

“I liked kissing you,” Harry blurts out.

Hermione freezes, her eyes wide.  “You did?”

“Yes,” Harry says, bravely, “I did.”  He gestures at her.  “I know you don’t feel the same…”

“I liked kissing you too,” Hermione cuts in.

Harry blinks.  “You did?”

Hermione takes a step back towards him and stops.  But then she takes a deep breath and with her characteristic bravery, speaks.  “I…I’ve always liked you, Harry.”  She smiles a touch tremulously.  “I just…you never looked at me so…”

“When I might have thought…you wanted Ron,” Harry points out, “and he always liked you so…”

Hermione takes another step towards him and he takes a step toward her.  They’re close enough to touch.

“So, we like each other,” Hermione states with a wry smile, “we’ve always liked each other, we’ve just never realised.”

Harry nods.  “I think that sums it up.”

Hermione bites her lip.  “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of Stockholm Syndrome because…”

Harry kisses her again.  Sometimes he can be as brave and reckless as a Gryffindor is supposed to be.

The kiss is just as good as the last one; better.  They both reach for each other at the same time and they’re properly kissing; tongues tangling and hands seeking the skin under their clothes.  Harry draws Hermione flush against him and she gives a breathy moan.  They don’t stop kissing.

The wards tug at Harry’s magic as his missing relatives arrive back from the ball and it’s enough to break the bubble of intimacy.

Harry eases back, breathing hard.  Hermione looks at him wide-eyed, her lips swollen.  Her hair is in disarray.  One of his hands strokes over her back; one of her hands is under his shirt.

“Harry…”  Hermione whispers.

“Wow,” Harry says.

Hermione stares for a second before she giggles.  A second later they’re both chuckling. 

Hermione smooths his collar down and gazes at him thoughtfully.  “So, we’re really doing this?  I mean, being together?”

“I want to try,” Harry replies, “but only if…”

“I want to try too,” Hermione hurriedly assures him.  She kisses him softly but pulls back before he can deepen the kiss.  “But as much as I really enjoy kissing you, I think maybe we should take it slow.”

Harry won’t lie; he’s a little disappointed.  His body is very much on board with kissing, on the fact that there’s a bed right next to them.  But he won’t push her. 

“It’s just there’s a lot at stake, Harry,” Hermione continues, “we’re pretending to be married and we’re relying on each other a lot and we still don’t know how we got here or how we get back and what that whole thing with Ignotus waking up means.  We need to make sure we’re not just getting carried away and that we’re really serious about this and I don’t want to risk our friendship and…”

He drops another quick kiss on her lips.  “Hey, it’s OK,” he says, “I understand, and our friendship comes first, right?  No matter what we add to it.   We’ll always be friends.”

Hermione’s face eases with relief.  “Thank you, Harry.”

“And you’re right, we probably should take it slow given the circumstances,” Harry admits.  “I don’t think either of us are the type to get carried away, and it would be good to try to maybe do this normally?”

“You mean like go on a date?”  Hermione asks, a little incredulous.

“Yes, something like that,” Harry immediately replies, “just something normal.”

“I like that idea,” Hermione admits, “maybe we can arrange a date together before we go back to Hogwarts.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry says.

They grin like loons at each other.

“OK,” Hermione says firmly, “let’s just…do what we usually do and get ready for bed.”

“You still OK sharing?” asks Harry.

Hermione nods.  “If you are?”

Harry gives a nod of his own in reply.  She kisses him gently and disentangles herself from their embrace.  He watches as she walks over to the bathroom and closes the door. 

He breathes in deeply.  He can’t quite believe they’re going to be together.  He feels indescribably happy, as effervescent as the champagne they’d drunk.  He still feels the same bubbly joy a few minutes later as they swap places and he heads into the bathroom for his own ablutions. 

Still, there’s a moment of awkwardness as he slides into the bed.  Hermione huffs when the lights go out and he’s very carefully keeping to his own side.  She snuggles up and Harry tucks her against him carefully.  He falls asleep with her hair tickling his nose.

They have no time the next morning to really talk about it; it’s a flurry of activity as they all make their way from Potter Hall to Blackthorn through a floo connection. 

Harry steps out and immediately shivers as the weight of the family magic surrounds him for a long moment; there is duty and honour, a magical legacy that reaches into his spirit and calls to him.  But there is also warmth and affection; a purity of love and welcome which feels heartbreakingly familiar.

“Welcome home, Harry,” Arcturus says as the magic recedes and leaves Harry breathless in front of the ornate fireplace in the reception room.  “Let’s get you settled in.”

It’s Sirius who shows them to their suite of rooms; equally as spacious as their rooms at Potter Hall.  He gives all the guests a quick tour and they end up passing the morning in the library, Lily and Hermione captivated by the books.

Lunch is a lively affair.  Regina, Lily and Hermione debate the merits of an old Arithmancy book as the rest of them look on indulgently.  Eventually they pause and take in their captivated audience.

Hermione gives a sheepish smile. “My apologies, we got caught up.”  She slides her hand over Harry’s on the top of the table and Harry weaves their fingers together comfortingly.  They’ve enjoyed holding hands and sharing quiet looks all through the morning.  His glee at their relationship has caused a couple of indulgent looks from Charlus and an audacious wink from James.

“No need to apologise,” Dorea says, “it’s interesting to hear such an intelligent debate amongst our young women.”  She looks over at Lily curiously.  “Have you considered a Mastery?”

“Yes, actually, I’m apprenticed to Professor Flitwick,” Lily replies.

Dorea frowns.

“Why are you the Muggle Studies Professor if you’re apprenticed?” asks James bluntly.

Charlus sends him a chiding look but he stays quiet.

Lily flushes under the weight of the attention she’s garnered.  “I’m afraid…”

Alice rolls her eyes. “Dumbledore was an arse and wouldn’t agree to her being in the castle if she wasn’t a Professor.”

“Alice!” remonstrates Lily.

Charlus and Arcturus exchange a sombre look. 

“I hadn’t realised you had such an arrangement,” Sirius says, frowning.

“Why should you?” Lily gestures around the table.  “The Headmaster simply had concerns given I am first generation and without family to look after my interests.  He noted I would have incurred gossip being apprenticed to Professor Flitwick and staying in his quarters without a chaperone.  My employment gives me a valid reason for being in Hogwarts, provides quarters of my own, and I can continue my apprenticeship.”

“While the Headmaster raised some valid concerns, I cannot say I agree with his solution,” Dorea responds, “there are a number of ways the issue could have been resolved without you slowing down your apprenticeship to accommodate a full-time teaching position.”

“Perhaps,” Lily says, “but the Headmaster has always looked out for me.  I respect his decision in this matter.”

Alice snorts and Lily glares at her.

“Don’t look at me like that, Lily,” Alice says, “you know my feelings on the subject.  Personally, I think he’s taken advantage of both you and Severus, and I don’t even like Severus.”

“I don’t think offering Severus an apprenticeship is taking advantage of him,” counters Lily with a touch of exasperation.

Harry remembers the conversation between James and Sirius the night before and isn’t too surprised to find them exchanging a look further down the table.

“Well, I’m sure given the current circumstances, we might be able to come some arrangement with Albus on your apprenticeship,” Dorea comments.

Lily looks flummoxed.  “The current circumstances?”

“The Evans family is now a cadet branch of both the Potter and Black family magics through Harry,” Regina chimes in, “you have our protection now.”

Lily frowns.  “Thank you but I’m sure…”

“Perhaps a discussion for after lunch,” Dorea asserts smoothly, “the ladies can take afternoon tea and discuss the matter.”

It’s clear that the discussion is over at least for the lunch table.  Dorea adeptly changes the topic and a debate about the current state of the Quidditch league quickly takes centre stage.

The question of whether Dumbledore is taking advantage of Lily stays with Harry for the rest of the day, through the afternoon of flying which James insists upon, and into the evening meal where Lily is unusually quiet and contemplative.

Harry can’t settle to sleep, not even with Hermione curled up beside him after a pleasant making-out session which had left them both a little flustered.  He makes his way out of their rooms and heads to the patio at the back of the house.  Luckily the doors slide open easily and Harry steps into the night air with a sigh of relief.

The sky is filled with stars and the moon is a crescent of silver light pouring over the dark ground.  The picturesque gardens are obscured; tantalising flashes of clarity where the light hits, and the rest shrouded in shadow.

Harry wishes idly he’d worn something other than just his pyjamas and a dressing gown.

He loves the feel of Blackthorn.  It feels like Sirius, he realises.  His Sirius.  His Sirius had been damaged and broken by years in Azkaban; a mosaic of bad judgements and decisions.  But he had loved Harry and Blackthorn feels like being wrapped in Sirius’ arms before they had said goodbye and Sirius flew away on Buckbeak; when Sirius had risked everything to be near Harry during the tournament; when Sirius had greeted him at Grimmauld the summer after his fourth year.

He breathes in and lets the family magic comfort him. 

A movement on the lawn in front of him draws his eyes, a dark shape like a dog but not…

His breath catches and his heart skips a beat.

Was it a grimm?

There’s a sound behind him.  Harry glances over his shoulder and finds Sirius standing beside the patio door.

For a second, his mind can almost paint the picture of his Sirius to allow Harry a moment of pretending.  But the thought is gone almost as soon as he registers it.

Besides, muses Harry, no-one would be able to get the two mixed up.  This world’s Sirius is measured in a way his Sirius never was; he’s intelligent and fast; calm and controlled.  There’s a steadfastness about him.  He’s everything Harry’s Sirius might have been had he been rescued from his parents; if he’d been raised with love and security and without his only anchor being the Marauders and James Potter. 

Harry really likes this Sirius.  It still feels like a betrayal some of the time, but his Sirius has been gone for years and Harry appreciates the differences between the two men.

“Sorry,” Harry says belatedly, realising Sirius has been waiting for Harry to speak, “I just needed a bit of air and I didn’t want to disturb Hermione.”  He turns back and isn’t surprised to find the lawn empty.

Maybe he’s seeing things?

Sirius takes the few steps separating them, stopping as he draws level.  He peers out into the darkness too.  There’s a cold frost seeping in on the top of the grass.  A breeze which has Harry shivering before Sirius mutters and the patio becomes a haven of magical warmth.

“Can’t sleep?” asks Sirius carefully.

Harry grimaces.  “Sorry.” 

Sirius hums.  “I’d be worried if you didn’t get a few given some of the stories you’ve told us, and then there is the whole world jumping thing.  I’d think I’d have a few sleepless nights if I were you.”

Harry blinks in surprise but he lets out a small chuckle because he guesses Sirius is right.  “Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?” offers Sirius.

He sighs.  “Actually, I was thinking about Lily and Dumbledore.”

“Ah,” Sirius says.

“You think he took advantage of her, don’t you?” asks Harry bluntly.

“She’s the brightest witch of our generation,” Sirius replies, “and having her in debt to him gives him a powerful asset.”  He sighs.  “I hadn’t realised her employment terms were anything but above board.” He turns to Harry.  “She’ll have better options when she returns; she can seek the shelter of both the Houses of Potter and Black now.  That’s thanks to you.”

Harry breathes out.  “I feel so protective of her already.”

“That’s your family magic stirring,” Sirius says. 

They’re quiet for a long while.  Harry stands and stares up at the night sky.

“You should head back to bed; get some sleep.”

Harry almost jumps as he’s reminded he’s not alone.  He blinks again at Sirius; at the weird double vision of the Sirius in his heart and the one in front of his eyes.

Harry nods.  “Thank you for checking on me.”  He takes a step and stops when Sirius calls out his name.

“Who was Sirius Black in your world?” asks Sirius.

He’s not just asking out of curiosity, Harry thinks, but he’s not sure why Sirius wants to know either.

“Does it matter?” asks Harry warily.

“You look at me sometimes as though you expect to see someone else,” Sirius says quietly.  “I like you, Harry, and I think we’re on our way to being good friends, cousins.  But I dislike the idea that I hurt you just by being.”

“You don’t.”  Harry automatically denies, crossing his arms.

Sirius just raises an eyebrow.

Harry blows out a breath because, yeah, that was a pathetic attempt at a lie.  He paces a little away from Sirius and stand at the edge of the patio and stares out into the night sky again.

“Sirius Black was my godfather,” Harry confesses quietly.

Sirius stays where he is and Harry is grateful for that.  “He was the one who was wrongfully imprisoned.”

“Yes,” Harry confirms.  “Sirius…Sirius never got rescued from his parents by his grandfather.  He met my father on the Express and they became fast friends during the journey.  Sirius was sorted to Gryffindor.”

“That would not have gone down well with my mother,” Sirius comments.  “By all accounts, she was devoted to Slytherin; had the whole house decorated with snakes.”

Harry smiles a touch sadly at that.  It’s weird to think of Sirius as being anything other than a Gryffindor.  “My Sirius…he ran away from home at sixteen and was taken in by my grandparents.  He and my father were raised as brothers from that point.  He was best man at my parents’ wedding.”  He sighs.  “He loved them very much.  He got to the house just after the attack and found me.  Hagrid turned up with orders to collect me and take me to Dumbledore so…” he shrugs, “I sometimes wonder if Hagrid hadn’t taken me, if Sirius had been able to keep me with him, if he could have cleared his name and…”

There’s silence as Harry gathers his composure as he tries to will the desperate wish of what might have been away again.

“He said to me once that after Hagrid left he went mad with grief and anger.  He went after the traitor who’d given away the location and then Sirius got framed for my parents’ murders,” Harry says simply.  “Azkaban wasn’t kind to him; he suffered.  But he broke out to protect me when he realised the traitor was at Hogwarts with me.  He wasn’t right mentally or physically really, but it didn’t matter to me.  He loved me and tried to protect me.  He died trying to protect me.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Sirius says.

“He was,” Harry says.  “He was stubborn and prejudiced in his own way; reckless and hot-tempered.  But he was kind to me and he lived in a house he hated so I would have some protection.”  He turns to look at Sirius.  “But you’re not him and I know that.  Sometimes it hurts to look at you because…you, this world; you’re everything Sirius could have been.” 

Sirius regards him for a long moment.  “I don’t remember being beaten by my mother.  I know my medical records tell me she broke three of my bones and I was bruised and bleeding when my grandparents found me.  I was apparently protecting Regina when they came in and found my mother whipping me.”  He pauses.  “I dread to think what would have happened to me if the family magic hadn’t alerted my grandfather.”

“It’s made such a difference in this world,” Harry says. “I think we’re on our way to being good friends too?  I just…I know you’re not him, but I just wish…I wish he could have had the same life.”

“I’m lucky,” Sirius acknowledges.  “Maybe I haven’t expressed that enough or thought about that enough.”

Harry smiles at him.  “I think if I could speak to him now, he’d be pleased we’ve met and that we’re going to be friends.”

Sirius looks pleased at that.  He gestures with a jerk of his head toward the door.  “Want to see if the house elves can rustle up some hot chocolate?”

They head inside to the kitchen.  There’s a young elf on duty who positively squeaks with delight at the prospect of serving them hot chocolate. 

Once they have drinks, Sirius nudges Harry. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

Harry follows him through the house to a study.  Sirius waves him inside and walks him up to a familiar tapestry; the Black family tree.  Harry smiles at the pristine condition; the gleaming threads of silver and gold.

“Here,” Sirius points to a low point on the tapestry.

Harry starts as he reads his own name and – Hermione.  Hermione is displayed as his wife.  He swallows hard.  He remembers the rush of magic as Hermione had accepted his ring and he wonders… 

“Are you nervous about the Wizengamot tomorrow?” asks Sirius.

Harry takes a scalding hot mouthful of chocolate before replying.  “A little.  I wasn’t raised to this like you and James.”

“You don’t talk much about your childhood before Hogwarts,” Sirius says.

Harry shrugs, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Sirius considers him for a long moment.  “Nobody rescued you either, did they?”

“It wasn’t bad.”  Harry says immediately, and winces because his therapist is going to have a field day with him about that response. 

Or would if he was still on the right world to make his next appointment. 

He sips his chocolate.  “My aunt just didn’t like me and her husband hated me.  They both raised their own son to do the same, although Dudley wasn’t all bad at the end.  They made me know I was a burden; that I wasn’t deserving of love or kindness in their eyes.  I just thought it was normal.”  He looks over at Sirius.  “Dumbledore basically threatened them into taking me in.  I can’t blame them for being resentful or fearful.  He had no right to do that to them or me, but he did it anyway for the greater good.”

“Harry?”

Both of them turn at the sound of Hermione’s voice and find her in the doorway.  She’s wrapped in a dressing gown, but she looks a touch pale.

“Hey,” Harry gets to his feet and immediately goes to her.  “Are you OK?”

Hermione nods and takes his hand.  “Just woke up and you weren’t there.”

“And I think that’s my cue to leave,” Sirius says smoothly.  “Goodnight,” He sweeps out of the second doorway without waiting for a reply and Harry is thankful that Sirius could clearly see Hermione needs him.

Hermione frowns.   “I didn’t mean to chase him off.”

“Come on,” Harry says, darting a look back at the tapestry.  “We’d best get to bed.”

They walk back up to the suite.  The bedroom is dimly lit.  Hermione has set a mage light into a small lamp on her side of the bed.  They clamber back into the sinfully comfortable double bed and settle back down.

Harry doesn’t ask Hermione to dim the light.  He likes the glow. 

Hermione turns to face him.  “You OK?”

“Just couldn’t sleep, I didn’t want to wake you,” Harry admits softly.  “I went out for some air and Sirius found me.”

“He’s nice,” Hermione offers.

“He is,” Harry agrees.  He turns on his side so they’re face to face.  “I told him about our Sirius.”

Hermione’s eyes widen.  “What did he say?”

“I think he already knew he was someone important to me back in our world.  He was really good about it,” Harry pauses.  “He talked about how things were for him with his parents – if our Sirius had the same…it’s no wonder he was so screwed up.”

“I’ve noticed he’s very good with the house elves,” Hermione murmurs. 

It seems like a strange segue, but Harry understands.  Hermione had hated how Sirius had treated Kreacher, but even Hermione had to allow that Sirius had been badly treated by the elf as a child on his own mother’s orders.  That this Sirius is kind and polite to his elves suggests he never had to go through the same.

Hermione smiles.  “It’s interesting, isn’t it?  The change family magic has made on the Blacks?  Regina’s lovely.”

Harry nods – a little awkwardly given his position.  He sighs.  “They have the Black family tapestry in the study, it has us on it.”

“Us?” Hermione’s brow creases in confusion.

“Us,” Harry taps her finger where she wears his ring, “it thinks we’re married.”

“Oh,” Hermione says.  She bites her lip.  “How do you feel about that?”

“Honestly, I think I’m relieved there’s something which gives truth to what we’ve claimed,” Harry says, “if we’re truly married nobody is going to find out we’re not.”

“Me too,” Hermione says.  “But it’s a little weird, isn’t it?  With where we are?”

Harry lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.  “We’re together and I’m happy we’re together _together_ even if we’re taking it slow.”

Hermione snuggles closer.  “Me too.”

Harry nudges her hand with his.  “What about you?  Why did you wake up?”

“I was thinking about my parents here,” Hermione admits.  “When we were taking afternoon tea, Dorea and Regina offered to track them down.” 

“You don’t want to check in on them,” Harry surmises reading the uncertainty in her eyes.

Hermione bites her lip.  “I’ve thought about it but…I think I’m going to ask Dorea to check if they exist and if they’re OK but…I don’t think I want to meet them.  They’ve never really been comfortable about the magical world and there’s no guarantee that I’ve been born or that I’d still be magical.”

“That would be a loss for this world,” Harry says.

“Yeah?” asks Hermione with a small smile.

“Well, you’re the best thing about our world so I may be a little biased,” Harry’s tone is teasing but he’s sincere, his heart kicking up a gear as he waits for her reaction.

Hermione beams at him.  “You’re definitely biased.”

Harry lifts his shoulder again and shrugs lightly.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Hermione says eventually.  “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Harry agrees.  Hermione shifts to settle on her back and Harry watches as she falls asleep.  He closes his eyes eventually and drifts away.


	14. Call to Arms

The morning dawns and it is a sunny crisp day. The sky is a brilliant blue, sun beaming down unimpeded by clouds. There's a hard frost on the ground, silver and white glistening up from the grass, gravel and concrete pathways.

Harry and Hermione breakfast with the family before returning to their suite to get ready for the Wizengamot.

Hermione is already dressed in a warm Paisley dress of beautiful grey, green, silver and blue tones when Harry exits the bathroom. The smart grey trousers he pulls on match the darker grey in Hermione's dress. He teams them with a green cotton shirt and a Paisley tie. The dark grey robes are open in style – something Sirius has assured Harry is in trend but acceptable still for the more formal Wizengamot.

It helps when they head down to meet up with the rest of the family that Sirius and James are wearing something similar. Sirius in black on black which gives him a dangerous air, and James in a smart blue outfit with a ruby shirt.

There's a lot of chatter as the elder Potters, the Longbottoms and Arcturus take one carriage leaving Harry and Hermione to take a second with Regina, Lily, Sirius and James.

Their arrival at the Ministry building is a new experience for Harry and Hermione. There's an old-fashioned entrance with a wrought-iron gate leading into a small quad, which reminds Harry of the Tower of London. He wonders if the private entrance for the Wizengamot members exists in his world; he's only ever used the phone box.

There are Aurors guarding the door and Harry sees James nod at someone who looks like a younger Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"This way," James says and leads them through the warren of corridors, ignoring all the gaping onlookers who are clearly bemused by the sight of the Potter heir with the Black heir and his sister, accompanied by three strangers. He takes them to his father's office.

"Are you alright there, Harry?" Charlus asks as Harry sits next to Hermione on a comfortable two-seater leather sofa. The Longbottoms are absent having gone to wait in Frank's own office.

"I'm fine." He feels sick. More than nerves before a match. More like he's genuinely going to throw up.

Hermione slides her arm around his in a loose hold.

"Deep breath." Lily advises, her gaze sharp on his.

Harry nods and breathes in shakily.

Sirius taps his shoulder and hands him a mug filled with hot chocolate.

Harry gives him a tentative smile of thanks and sips the drink. It's sweet and smooth. He drinks another sip.

"Don't worry," Charlus soothes him. "You'll have both myself and Arcturus beside you."

"And Sirius and I will be right behind you," James says with bright cheer. "So most of the old fogies will probably be so taken aback by that they'll not focus on you at all."

"Really, James," Dorea mutters, "I did bring you up better than that."

Harry's lips twitch and he can't help but be grateful for James' attempt to lighten the moment.

Hermione squeezes his hand gently.

There's a chime which sounds through the room.

"That's the signal," Arcturus says.

They gather themselves and troop out into the corridor.

Charlus and Arcturus lead the way with Dorea between them. Harry and Hermione are next, and true to his word, James, Sirius, Lily and Regina are bringing up the rear.

Harry tries to take in all the twists and turns as they head down a hallway lined with pictures of previous Ministers on one side and Chief Warlocks and Witches on the other. There's another Auror guard in front of the tall wooden doors which are standing open.

Harry recognises Pettigrew and Albert Croaker – James' friends and Auror partners. They both simply nod though as the group draws level.

Their arrival in the chamber causes a stir as they enter, chatter breaking out and noise filling the room almost to a deafening degree.

Hermione breathes in sharply beside him and he checks on her to find her staring out in wonder. She'd had that look a lot in their first few years at Hogwarts; the wonder of magic, the awe it inspires, breath-taking and unbelievable…

Harry hasn't seen her look that way for a while. She's beautiful when she's awe-struck, he thinks. He looks out to see what has enraptured her and his breath leaves him.

The Wizengamot chamber isn't anything like the courtroom he had attended. It's a circular space with a large round wooden object lodged in the central floor. The Round Table, Harry thinks half-hysterically and looks up to avoid seeing it.

The ceiling is a wonder of mosaic glass telling the story of Merlin; his birth, the fight between the dragons which had earned him his Sorcerer status, Arthur's birth and claiming of the throne with the sword, and the unification of the clans and tribes of Brittanica. There are floating mage lights lighting up the glass and the figures ripple and move just as in a wizarding photo.

There is an upper public gallery which is teeming with people; ordinary wizarding citizens and a cordoned off area for members of the press.

Harry yanks his gaze back to the main space in front of him.

Seven tiers rise-up from the ground. The ground tier is Ministerial and there are twenty-one seats occupied by the Minister, Director of the DMLE, Director of the DOM and Heads of Department. The second, third and fourth tiers are occupied by elected representatives of the wizarding enclaves; twenty-one in each tier. There are no chairs, just a simple padded bench in each of these tiers.

The sixth tier are the Minor Noble seats; another twenty-one. They each have two chairs; one for the current head of the family, and one for the Heir. The chairs are primarily wood but with comfortable padding and cushions.

Harry's eyes register Dumbledore in one seat before they catch on someone who looks like Malfoy and he has to take another steadying breath.

The final tier is where Harry will sit. There are family boxes; a bench behind for family, and two chairs in front again. The chairs are beautifully carved, the cushions comfortable and decked in expensive material.

According to Charlus, the upper tier originally had twenty-one seats, but time has seen some family die away or be subsumed into another line. There are currently only twelve families occupying the tier along with a box for the Chief Witch. A scribe sits to her left and a secretary to her right.

Harry follows Charlus and takes a seat in the Potter box alongside Hermione, Lily and Dorea. Only when Harry claims the Peverell seat will a chair and box appear to accommodate him.

James winks at him as he takes his seat in front.

"Seal the doors!" Chief Witch Marchbanks orders.

The cry is echoed by the guards at the door.

The noise dies away and the chamber falls silent as the doors shut with an audible bang.

Harry takes a breath.

It's time for the Wizengamot to begin.

"The first item on the docket is a Special Circumstance," the secretary announces.

Harry tries not to squirm as the Chief Witch looks up to the family box.

"Earl Gryffindor, if you could please explain," Chief Witch Marchbanks asks briskly.

Charlus sends Harry a supportive glance before he stands and faces the Wizengamot. "Over Christmas, the Earl of Grimmauld and I felt a new addition to our family through our magic. We both separately believed at the time that it was the birth of a new child into a dormant line and we would discover the child in a matter of days which is the usual case."

Harry tries not to fidget as Charlus pauses for a breath.

"We were both invited to Hogwarts for dinner and discovered that our belief was incorrect," Charlus takes his time, looking around the Wizengamot. "Professor Dumbledore explained that during the holidays they had received two young visitors in need of help. The couple had been pulled through a magical tunnel from one world and into ours, and they were the new kin the Earl of Grimmauld and I had felt: Lord Harry Potter-Black and his wife Hermione."

There's an immediate outbreak of chatter.

"ORDER! There will be order!"

The Wizengamot falls silent again at the Chief Witch's shout.

"I call upon Director Bell of the Department of Mysteries to give testimony in this matter," the Chief Witch states firmly.

Harry is pleased to see the tall blonde witch who led the DOM rise from her chair and view the Wizengamot with a no-nonsense air.

"We have investigated the claims and found that the evidence supports Lord Potter-Black and his wife," Bell says firmly. "The Lady Potter-Black was gifted with a crystal ball on her birthday by a family friend as she is a first-generation witch; the family friend had placed a geas on the ball tied to the Lady Potter-Black to show her a specific image at midnight. The ball had been spelled years before to create the dimensional travel. We believe when the geas was activated by the Lady, it accidentally triggered the travel spell. Frankly, it's a wonder both of them survived the journey."

Harry felt Hermione's hand tighten on his.

"Upon arrival, the pair were able to make their way to Hogwarts which is familiar to them in their own world. They realised something was awry when faced with Professor Dumbledore who had died in their world some years ago," Bell continues. "The pair were treated by Hogwarts' staff and Professor Dumbledore notified their immediate family in this world. The families have, of course, welcomed them and given them protection and sanctuary. Once they were introduced to the rest of the family, their marriage was registered magically here at the Ministry."

There's another ripple of sound.

Harry and Hermione exchange a look; it's another sign that they are actually married. Hermione squeezes his hand reassuringly and he manages to smile back at her.

"Will they be able to return to their own world?" asks the Chief Witch loudly, sending everyone back to silence.

Bell clears her throat and glances up towards them. "The spell is complex and will take some time to decipher. There are many of us willing to work on the spell given its uniqueness but even with willing wizards and witches, the DOM estimates that to understand the spell may take five years or more. Certainly, the ability to alter it to enable the couple to return may take another similar length of time beyond that."

Whispers break out across the crowd. Hermione leans against him. They'd both been torn at the estimates when they'd heard them. As much as they hate the way their own world has treated them, they miss their home, their friends. It's difficult to think they'll end up spending so long in this world before they can return.

"It is for this reason we have recommended that official paperwork be enacted to recognise Lord Potter-Black and his wife to give them citizenship and rights thereof," Bell concludes.

"Thank you, Director Bell," the Chief Witch says. "Minister, your thoughts?"

Millicent Bagnold gets to her feet. She's a stately woman with grey hair and a long nose. "We agree with Director Bell's recommendation. We have found the young Lord and Lady to be honest and forthright. Their arrival here may be the result of a confluence of spells and fate but we would welcome them."

The Chief Witch nods and looks back up to Charlus. "Earl Gryffindor, what say you?"

"We have already welcomed Harry and Hermione into our home and our family, alongside recognising Harry's maternal line as a cadet branch," Charlus says. "The House of Potter has also accepted the rapprochement of the House of Black to enable us to properly provide sanctuary and care to our new members."

That causes a huge rush of chatter which is quelled by a look from the Chief Witch almost immediately.

"Earl Grimmauld?" She asks briskly. "What say you?"

Arcturus stands. "The Earl of Gryffindor and I are agreed. We welcome Harry and Hermione to our world and to our family. We are united to protect them."

"Very well," the Chief Witch says. "Let it be known on this day, the second of January in the year two-thousand and two, Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane Potter nee Granger are hereby acknowledged as rightful citizens of this world and issued with official papers proclaiming them as such." Her face softens into a soft smile as her eyes find Harry's. "Welcome, Lord and Lady Potter-Black."

Harry and Hermione both bow their heads in unison as a mark of respect and acknowledgement.

"You have another request, Earl Gryffindor?" The Chief Witch moves on briskly, stalling another wave of chatter.

Charlus smiles. "Yes, both the Earl of Grimmauld and I…we believe the Lord Potter-Black should not lose his rights due to his unique position. In his world he has the right to sit on the Wizengamot for both the House of Potter and the House of Black." He nods at Arcturus.

"Our proposal is to award one of our lesser titles to Lord Potter-Black providing him with the same rights here," Arcturus says.

Harry isn't surprised when the moment of stillness after the announcement breaks out into pandemonium.

"ORDER!" The Chief Witch accompanies her shout by waving her wand and a small bang silences the Wizengamot. She looks out furiously. "We will discuss this sensibly and I will eject anyone who cannot do so. Is that understood?"

The crowd settles again and Harry takes a shaky breath.

"Earl Gryffindor, what title do you intend to bestow?" asks the Chief Witch.

"The Earldom of Peverell," Charlus replies.

There is an audible gasp.

The Chief Witch's eyes narrow. "And you, Earl Grimmauld?"

"The Barony of Ravenshold," Arcturus replies.

It doesn't get as much of a gasp but there is a scattered muttering.

The Chief Witch sniffs. "I can see there are people who wish to speak. Raise wands if you wish to speak for the motion."

Harry watches in surprise as both Sirius and James raise their wands.

The Chief Witch calls on James first.

James stands, legs apart, arms behind his back, almost at parade rest. "Our family honour demands we treat Harry, Lord Potter-Black, with the respect due his position. To not recognise that he has a title, that he has a right to a vote in this body, would be to deny him his familial and magical heritage. I stand with my father in our decision."

"Well spoken, Viscount Potter," the Chief Witch sighs. "Baron Blackthorn, you are recognised."

Sirius gets to his feet and Harry can see the immediate way he captivates the Wizengamot. "The arrival of someone from another world into ours is unprecedented. The acts we take now to protect and welcome Harry and his wife will say much about our own civility, magic and legacy. How can we not give him what he is justly entitled to? He is ours now and our magic is his."

There are a few people nodding and Harry can see Sirius's words are resonating around the room.

"Earl Longbottom, you are recognised."

Frank rises to his feet. "I have had the pleasure of spending some of the holidays with the Lord and Lady Potter-Black and their new family. The love and kinship between them is a delight. This is not our business but the business of family magic for these two families. If they wish to confer a title upon a member of their family that is their right. I say we have no right to stand in their way."

The Chief Witch thanks Neville's father and he sits back down. She calls upon another two members of the Wizengamot, Lady Bones and Lady Appleby, who both echo the arguments already made.

"Raise your wands if you wish to speak against the Earl's motion," the Chief Witch announces.

Harry blinks in surprise when she recognises Dumbledore.

"I have also had the pleasure of meeting young Harry and his wife," Dumbledore begins, "they are intelligent good people. I have no doubt if Harry were to be given a voice in our Wizengamot he would act with honour and integrity." He pauses. "I also believe that the wish for him to take his place as expressed by the Gryffindor and Grimmauld families are sincere and truthful; that the intent comes from love and family." He sighs. "But Harry is young. He is not even as old as the heirs to the Houses of Potter and Black. He has endured much in his world and has his titles because of the loss of his family there. I understand the motivations, but I believe it would be a kindness not to press this young man to take up a responsibility in this world and allow him a moment of peace."

Harry shivers as several people crane their heads to look at him. Hermione strokes her thumb over the back of his hand. Her silent support eases Harry's thoughts.

"Lord Malfoy," the Chief Witch.

Hermione tenses beside him and it's Harry's turn to comfort her.

"I also appreciate the sentiment expressed by the families, but I question the right of a visitor from another world gaining a voice in the body which governs ours."

Abraxas Malfoy has similar mannerisms to his son Lucius, but he lacks the air of menace which Harry had always associated with Malfoy until the end of the war when the wizard had been nothing more than a cowardly servant of Voldemort's.

There are another three who speak against the request and the Chief Witch finally calls a halt.

"Perhaps we should put it to a vote," she says briskly.

Sirius raises his wand. "Point of order, Chief Witch."

"Yes, Baron Blackthorn?" asks the Chief Witch, a hint of remonstration in her voice.

"Motions to confer titles cannot be placed to the Wizengamot for a vote. At the beginning of the Wizengamot each noble family was weighed by the Round Table before they were able to sit within this body. The head of a family has had the unassailable right since to confer a title on whomever they wish so long as there is a blood and magical connection," Sirius points out crisply.

The chamber breaks out into a furore of chatter again.

"ENOUGH! ORDER! ORDER, OR I WILL BAN ALL BUT THE SITTING MEMBERS FROM THE CHAMBER!" The Chief Witch glares around the Wizengamot as silence falls. She nods at her scribe, a stately looking wizard who reminds Harry vaguely of Daphne Greengrass.

"I do not disagree with the Baron's proclamation; he is right," the wizard says.

The Chief Witch recognises a witch on the opposite side of the chamber. "Baroness Selwyn."

"To put this matter to the vote would set a precedent I do not believe we wish to make; to allow the Wizengamot to interfere in the family right to confer inheritance," the elderly witch raises a hand. "But I do think the matter of giving a voice in the Wizengamot to a wizard from another world…that does not sit easily with me. No matter the character references we have heard, his magic does not originate in our world. To simply confer this honour…I do not agree even if I cannot deny Baron Blackthorn's point; the Round Table gave us these rights and we cannot deny them."

Sirius rises again. "Perhaps there is a way forward. The conference of the title of Peverell will recreate the family box, therefore we could request that Lord Potter-Black be weighed by the Round Table," he suggests crisply. "If he is accepted then he gains his seat; if he is not accepted then we confer the titles but without the responsibilities or votes which would normally accompany such an act."

Charlus and Arcturus exchange a long look. Harry clears his throat quietly, catching Charlus's attention.

Charlus glances back swiftly. "Harry? You wish to speak?"

"Lord Potter-Black, you are so recognised," the Chief Witch says.

Harry stands, reluctantly letting go of Hermione's hand. He took a deep breath. "Firstly, on behalf of Hermione and myself I'd like to say thank you for recognising our citizenship in this world, and for the care and protection our families and Hogwarts here have given to us since they have known of our arrival."

He can see how pleased Charlus is by his words.

"I know Earl Gryffindor and Earl Grimmauld make their request from a place of magic, family and love. They wish to honour my status in my own world; to give me an equal place in theirs," Harry continues. "I am honoured by them."

Charlus gives a nod of acknowledgement.

"I also understand the arguments against giving me a vote here in this Wizengamot," Harry says, looking out into the listening faces in front of him. He turns to Sirius. "Is this Round Table test fatal if I am not accepted?"

"No," Sirius immediately answers, "there's not a lot known about it in truth. But it is said to have weighed the character of the wizard or witch and if they passed the spirit of Arthur appeared to them and offered them a seat within the Wizengamot. Any who did not pass simply did not achieve a seat."

"OK, so I think the suggestion has merit then," Harry says. "My family honours me with the titles, but I take this test to see if the magic here believes I have the right to have a vote in the Wizengamot."

The Chief Witch blinks at him as though surprised. "Well, I think we may have found a compromise." She waves at Charlus. "Is this acceptable to you, Earl Gryffindor?"

"I will accept the outcome of the Round Table." Charlus says and sits.

"And you, Earl Grimmauld?" She checks.

Arcturus gives Sirius a hard look but he nods. "I too will accept the outcome of the Round Table."

"Please make your way down, Lord Potter-Black," the Chief Witch invites him with a smile.

Harry breathes out slowly. He turns back to Hermione who ignores the whole Wizengamot to give him a brief hug. He can see how worried she is but he hugs her back hard and steps away. He makes his way down the tiers aware all eyes are on him. He stops just a step away from the Round Table in the centre of the floor.

"When you are ready, Lord Potter-Black," the Chief Witch says, "please take step onto the Round Table."

Harry nods and tries to remember to breathe. He looks up towards Hermione and his eyes find hers easily. She smiles tremulously back at him. He breathes in again and turns back to face the Round Table in front of him again. One more breath. He takes a step forward…

The air around him stills.

Silence.

A heartbeat.

There's a deep chime.

Loud and long.

Harry feels it in his soul.

Connection.

A call to arms.

Magic rushes around him, a mini tornado…

Harry is frozen, unable to move…

And the tornado drops leaving behind a figure who glows with magical light…

A man stands in front of him. He's tall and broad; blond hair tied back with a strip of leather and a full beard. He's wearing armour; a chest plate with chainmail; leather trousers and boots. He has a cloak falling behind him in a sweep of red. He rests his hands on the pommel of a large broadsword which is pointing down into the table.

"Your King has need of you," the man says solemnly.

Harry's heart stampedes in his chest as his eyes widen. He's standing in front of King Arthur.

Arthur reaches out and clasps Harry's shoulder.

The world shifts.

They're no longer standing in the centre of the Wizengamot but in a circular room of an ancient tower.

In front of Harry the Round Table is again a table and sat around it are the ghostly figures of Arthur's Knights and the slumped figure of the Queen, still in battle armour but her female form unmistakeable.

There are banners with the crest of Pendragon falling from the high ceiling. Candles float in wrought iron chandeliers, unlit and dark. The tall windows are thin but a pale light streams in to cut across the dark and highlight the floating motes of dust.

Harry feels a moment's anxiety, his magic surging, but before he can panic…

"No-one will notice we are gone," Arthur states, "to them this is a blink of an eye."

Harry takes a breath. Then another. "This is…"

"The place in-between," Arthur says. "Avalon asleep," He looks around a mix of wistfulness and nostalgia. "We're waiting."

"What for?" asks Harry, giving into his curiosity.

"Merlin," Arthur says. "He will return and find the path to awaken our spirits in this new world beyond." He smiles at Harry. "Come."

They make their way out of the room and down a dusty hallway. There's a door and a step later they're outside on a narrow strip of roof, parapets shielding them. Harry looks out. Beyond the castle walls there are fields of green and low rolling hills. The sun is shining but it's muted; there's no air, no breeze. There isn't a sound in the distance or the natural cries of birds and animals.

Everything is suspended, waiting.

"War is coming," Arthur's piercing gaze holds Harry's. "I need your wand and your magic to guard Camelot."

It's a blow.

He doesn't want another war. He doesn't want to fight any more. He wants peace and a life and…he wants coffee and cake with Hermione arguing about essays and Ron complaining about anything muggle except fish and chips and…

"I was raised as a fosterling," Arthur says, cutting across his thoughts, "Ector was fierce and stern but he cared about the people under his rule. I had food and shelter. Kay was…too aware of his own status but he was friendly sometimes, brotherly rarely, and a bully when he didn't get his way. It taught me a lot my time in Ector's estate."

Harry thinks of his own experience with Petunia and Vernon; of Dudley's taunts and slaps before he'd finally clued into his own horribleness. It had taught him a lot too.

"I was twelve when we went to Londinium; when I drew the sword and became the King," Arthur shakes his head. "It was the way back then; boys went to battle long before they were properly men. But I wasn't ready and there were years of wars. Every day was another battle. If it hadn't been for Merlin and my knights…we barely won." He turns back to Harry. "I know you understand. I can see the scars of the battles you wear upon your soul."

"All I've done since I was eleven is fight," Harry says. "Even in the moments when there wasn't a battle, it was still…" he sighs. "I'm not…I don't think I can fight anymore even if my magic will be fixed soon."

"I think you underestimate your strength," Arthur says.

Harry doesn't reply.

Arthur turns away and looks out. "Albion was united, but it was stitched together with thin thread and nothing stronger than spit. We knew it wouldn't hold. Merlin and I…we knew it wouldn't hold, couldn't hold."

Harry frowns, wondering where Arthur is going with the tale.

"Merlin and I had already seen the truth; we'd lived it once before." Arthur says simply.

Harry blinks.

"We'd slipped between this world and another, where we had lived a life where Morgana and Mordred betrayed me, my wife fell in love with another, and where Camelot had fallen to ruin," Arthur says. "We knew when we returned where the cracks were, the petty jealousies and human failings which would break apart the fragile peace we'd built."

"Merlin created the family magic," Harry says.

"It worked for a while," Arthur smiles fondly. "But the fragility of our peace, we could do nothing to fix that. What we wanted to build was too soon for the world; it wasn't ready. We weren't ready. Merlin saw the end; the descent back to war, the final battle where I'd take a fatal blow. And so, we planned."

Harry waits for the king to continue.

"Merlin cast a spell, one that when the end was imminent sent our spirits to sleep and wait," Arthur says. "But Merlin could see beyond to each threat to our return. Some we could nothing but hope, some we planted seeds long before which helped to change the tide in our favour, and then there was this threat."

"Is it Voldemort?" Harry asks softly.

Arthur turns back to him. "Yes and no. Tom Marvolo Riddle is not yet the abomination he could become."

"But he's part of what's happening," Harry says.

Arthur nods and sighs. "There is more here than you know or we could see. Evil walks and we cannot know its face for certain. But what we knew back then was that we would need someone to help us fight it."

Harry suddenly  _knows_. "The spell on the crystal ball. It was intended to bring someone here to fight this evil for you." He whirls away, furious and uncaring he's furious with a king. "How could you do that?" he thrusts a hand out toward Arthur. "Hermione almost died!" He stops. "It wasn't me you meant to bring. You meant to bring Hermione here and…"

"No, we meant to bring you and you would never have come willingly if not to save her," Arthur admits.

Harry is so angry, his magic rolls beneath his skin and he almost doesn't care if he controls it.

"The magical world does not survive here without your presence, Harry," Arthur says. "There is no other way. Merlin searched for a long time before we determined this."

It's blunt and honest. Harry can hear that. He just doesn't want to hear it. He's angry and tired…so tired of having to fight and…

Harry looks away from the king's piercing gaze. "If I don't fight…what happens?"

"The war will be brutal. Evil will triumph and the magical world will burn. There will be no world left for me to return to rule."

"But aren't you meant to return at the greatest hour of need?" asks Harry tersely.

Arthur frowns. "This magic is complex and ancient. Merlin and I…we agreed we would return when the world was ready for Camelot again."

Harry paces a step away, stops and looks out. He can barely believe what he's been told. He can't deny that he's standing looking out at a beautiful pastoral scene on top of a fairy-tale castle. He can't deny Hermione and he are in another world and a spell brought them there.

He hates this though. Hates being back at the beck and call of prophecy and fate.

"Know I do not ask this of you lightly. We may have chosen Hermione to bring you here, but we also knew you needed her beside you to support you; to ease the burden I can see you already carry. I know I have no right to ask you to carry more," Arthur says, "but this world needs a protector until I can return."

Harry can't argue with that. He just doesn't want it to be him. But he knows...he knows he won't sit by and let evil win. He won't. He can't. It's not in his nature. He can already hear Hermione scolding him about his saving people thing.

Hermione.

Merlin only knows what Hermione will think.

Although Harry thinks he can guess.

Harry rubs his forehead and turns back to the king. "I don't know if I can be what you want me to be."

Arthur's expression softens. "I trust in Merlin's magic and I trust in you, the boy with the mark of Taliesin on your brow. You are our choice," he keeps Harry's gaze. "Your King calls you to arms, Lord Peverell."

Harry nods slowly. "I accept."

The world shifts.

They're back in the Wizengamot; back on the Round Table in the centre of the chamber, all eyes upon them.

"You swear that your wand and magic will guard Camelot," Arthur says, his blue eyes blazing with inner light.

Harry acts on his instinct and goes down to one knee, his head bowed. "My wand and my magic will guard Camelot."

"Rise then, Harry James Potter, Earl of Peverell, Baron of Ravenshold," Arthur says.

Harry gets to his feet. He has no idea what he's supposed to say. He's barely aware that the Wizengamot is on its feet beyond the Round Table. He darts a look toward Hermione and finds her; hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Their eyes meet and he regains his calm. He takes a breath and turns back to the glowing figure of the King.

The Chief Witch finally finds her voice. "Our King has declared you, Harry, Earl of Peverell," she says shakily. "You may take your place among us."

Harry bows his head a touch and walks back up. He holds a hand out to Hermione and she takes it, her eyes brimming with questions. The Peverell box waits for them and Harry swallows hard at the sight of the grim on the coat of arms. He steps inside and Hermione follows him, her hand tightly holding his. They look back down to where Arthur's glowing figure still stands upon the Round Table.

Arthur looks out at the Wizengamot. "Know that the Earl of Peverell and his Lady are Knights of Avalon; they have our blessing." He declares and looks up at Harry. "Merlin's gift to you both…"

Beside Harry a large grim appears – it's not Padfoot but there's an immediate bond; the grim is his familiar. Next to Hermione, a kneazle, the image of Crookshanks, has appeared and she immediately sweeps it up and into her arms.

"Until we meet again." Arthur disintegrates into a million gold motes of magic which swirl and fly and disappear…

Chaos erupts, loud and noisy and deafening.

"ORDER! I WILL HAVE ORDER!"

Harry ignores the rest of the Wizengamot; the searing gaze of Dumbledore; the speculation and worry of his family and turns instead to look at Hermione. She looks back at him fiercely, protective and knowing.

He'll tell her everything soon enough. About Camelot, the King's orders, and Merlin's spell…but it's going to be alright. There may be another war to face but they have each other and that's all they've ever needed; friendship, bravery and love.

_End of Part One_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, this is where I ended this story when it was written for the Rough Trade challenge.
> 
> I've plotted out 4 more parts each around 60k of words which means this will be a mammoth project ending up somewhere around 300k of words by the time I've finished. I've started writing the next part but I won't start posting until I've got the majority of the next part written. I'm not guaranteeing when that will be and hopefully the end of this part one provides an end-for-right-now conclusion.
> 
> Some of you may have also noticed the one-shots I'm posting, expect more of those between now and the next part of A Step to the Right.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left messages and/or reviews in support. Unfortunately I don't have time to answer each one individually but I appreciate every single one. Happy Reading!


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